Bluffs, DVD commentary
Jan. 23rd, 2004 10:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdThis is for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
morgan_d who wanted the commentary
Bluffs
By Angel
[This was originally written for the Con*Stricted By Plot 2 zine. I had to include gambling and the words “I think I’ve already lost you.” So I thought about it, and came up with the idea that one was posing as a servant/slave-bodyguard to the other. Given the size, I opted to make Han the bodyguard.]
Places like this were all the same: a lowlife dive in the front, with a well concealed back room. The smoke of a dozen different plants filled the air, mingling with spilled intoxicants and personal scents of half a hundred patrons, human and other.
Han Solo balanced the tray very carefully as he carried it to the back room. He felt oddly out of place, and definitely not himself at all. Although this sort of rendezvous was old hat, the conditions that he and Luke were working under left him uncomfortable.
His usual black and white clothing had been discarded in favor of a slightly too-stylish green glitter-silk jumpsuit, with matching boots. A durasteel cage weighed on his left shoulder, encasing him to the fingertips, making his arm look half-cybernetic and a gold metalweave sash with dangling coins, a gunfighter's trophy sash, hung at his waist. The coins, each marking a dead opponent, jingled as he walked, warning the fool-hardy of his lethality. Only his blaster in its old
quick-draw rig was familiar.
[I wanted them in disguise. So I made Han a cyborg, and a gunfighter. He has a good fast draw, but he can’t take a professional gunslinger. Glittersilk is the creation of ZP Florian]
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall he was approaching and stared. His hair was longer, down on his shoulders, force grown in a medcenter, and jet black. A gold ring held it in a tight, short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He stopped himself from touching it and instead rubbed surreptitiously at the mustache he had raised. It itched more than the screws in his skull, holding the metal plate over his left eye. The plate was looksteel, one way transparent, and sported
a Flamehawk, accented with blazestones that matched the one in his ear. That last was the final horrible touch. It said, in this part of space at least, that he was owned.
[The long hair comes from Mosquito Coast, and the earring from later Ford films. It was originally in his earlobe. However, when Alex drew him, she put the ring up in the cartilage so I changed it. The idea of earrings as a mark of slavery comes from John Norman’s Gor.]
Once more, he found himself thinking disloyal thoughts about Luke, who hadn't had to make nearly as many changes for the trip. A quick lightening of his hair to a rich gold, a beard and change of clothing had been the extent of his alteration. Playing the bodyguard to Luke's merchant was one thing, but even pretending he was a slave left him on edge most of the time. And although the doctors assured him he shouldn't feel anything, sometimes the more deeply implanted body-parts itched. Only for Luke would he even have agreed to come along.
[Luke’s appearance here is very close to Mark’s in Hamilton. I love the bearded look]
A good many dramatic situations begin with screaming and this one was no different.
[This line is a nod to Barbarella and one of my favorite quotes.]
Han and Luke had been in Leia's office, prying her away from her work to take her for lunch, when a junior aide had burst in, shrieking about bombs and Imperial sympathizers.
They evacuated as was required, in a maneuver that had become tiresomely familiar in the three years since Endor, but none of them took the threat seriously enough.
Leia had turned back, just as her office bloomed into flowers of incandescence. Luke had been able to shield her from the worst of the blast with the Force, but she had been in the bacta tank for days. During that time, Luke hadn't slept and had barely eaten, as he helped Republic Security tracks down the assassins who had tried to kill them all.
[I wanted Leia injured gravely, but not fatally. There had to be a credible reason for the boys to take this mission. I just made it personal.]
Han stepped through the holographic mirror that led to the back room just as Luke tossed the black die. The blazestone signet ring bearing a Flamehawk flashed red in the dark room. The players held their breath. Han made a circuit of the table, delivering the drinks he'd been sent to get. The die came up a 9, exactly what Luke needed. He picked up another from the rack in front of him and rolled. A 2. The droid croupier returned the errant die and passed to the next man who rolled
a three. Finally, the man across from Luke, with the red dice, rolled the needed 10.
The game was easy enough: roll the next number in the sequence. Each player put a token in before he rolled, and the pot was split between all the players according to a percentage chart. Luke had been balancing his wins and losses with the Force, trying to appear harmless but not a complete sucker.
[I created the game myself. I wanted something that wasn’t earth based, but wasn’t sabbac either.]
Every man in the room was blond, short and bearded, as was typical of this system. Luke fit right in. He was passing for a starsilk merchant, and dressed the part. The dark blue matched his eyes and sparkled lavishly in the dim light. While the croupier divided the tokens, Han leaned in a little closer and whispered "How are you doing?"
"Not too well. I think I already lost you." The light tone in his voice would be mistaken for rich-man carelessness, but it told Han he was just teasing. "And the Sunfighter Franchise too." The Falcon had been far too recognizable for this mission. Besides, the sleek star yacht fit Luke's persona better.
[The Sunfighter Franchise is one of Han’s many false registrations for the Falcon. This one comes from Han Solo’s Revenge. It seemed fitting to name the borrowed yacht for her.]
Bodyguards being notoriously humorless, Han took the words at face value. "Not the ship, sir?" He'd tried when they had practiced, but the word "Master" would not come out of his mouth. They had agreed on "Sir" since a bodyguard had more status than the sort of slave they both associated with the more servile term. The mustache had raised eyebrows earlier as well, for a similar reason: facial hair was the prerogative of free men and they guarded it jealously.
[Even posing as a slave, Han is unable to bend his neck far enough. The antipathy was something Daley created and Crispin expanded on.]
"He's winning," grumbled the man on Luke's other side, their target. Sparing a lingering look for Han, one of many this evening, he added "Unfortunately."
Luke managed an oily smile. "Relan's a prize, isn't he? My father won him for me in a game very like this, many years ago."
"Would you be willing to put him up for wager?" The other man's blue eyes fairly gleamed as he threw out his die and got a one.
"By no means." Luke ran a possessive hand down Han's cheek and chest. "Not for the pittances we're playing for here. He's very special to me."
The mark tossed his second die and got a two. "But everything has a price." He boldly reached out and circled his finger around the blazestone earring. "I would pay well for a man like this." His third die came up a nine.
"This isn't the place to discuss it," Luke said, drawing Han slightly out of the man's reach before he could bristle too much. "Perhaps later?" He tossed out his die and it rolled the 3 he needed.
"Dinner. Tomorrow. My card, Owen. Call and we'll set a time."
[Luke is using his uncles name as a pseudonym. The Owen Aldar is formed from his uncle and a condensed version of “Alderaan”}
Luke rolled his four, and five, but then an eleven, which passed the die to the next shooter, before taking the paplas strip. "Tomorrow then, my friend."
[Paplas=paper+plastic. It’s a polymer based paper one of my fanon contributions.]
The round played out and Luke won. The man left. Luke stayed for one last round, cashed his tokens for the local currency, and left, with Han shadowing him.
Even in their hotel room, they couldn't let down the pretense. Spying was a time-honored hobby of the merchants in this system. Han went first, pressing the light panel with the barrel of his blaster, checking for intruders.
Luke followed him. Once in, with the door shut, he whispered, "To the shower, and we'll talk."
Once inside the cubicle, the water blocking their voices, Luke reached up and pulled his lover down for a kiss. He made it long and slow and sweet, repayment for all the indignities Han had suffered this evening. He relaxed as he felt Han's arms gather him in tighter.
"I'm sorry about all this," he whispered.
"I knew what I was getting into when I said I'd do it," Han replied. "Update me."
"His name is Sul Harvangul, a stimdust merchant with plenty of underworld connections, and a long history of Imperial sympathies. He washed out of the academy because of the dust. He kept his connections, and supplied stimdust to half the Empire. When the New Republic came in, his business fragmented, and profits plummeted. Now with the decriminalization, he stands to lose almost everything. And if you don't stop that-"
[If I could rewrite, I’d take this whole thing out. It’s an annoying expository block and I’ve never been happy with any of it, except the last line.]
"Stop what?" Han gave his best innocent look while he continued rubbing along the cleft of Luke's bottom with his flesh hand. "Update, don't rehash what I know, kid."
"Or don't stop," Luke pushed him back against the wall of the shower, and rubbed up against him. The feel of Han always thrilled him, and the metal touch of the cybernetic arm was perversely exciting, making him want to find his lover under all the disguise. "I thought you never paid attention during briefings," he added, letting the words blow the water away from Han's shoulder. His own hands were busy, the left sliding slowly down his lover's body, as the right coaxed out
the gold band holding Han's hair. He buried his hand in it and pulled Han's face down again for another kiss.
"You're loving this, aren't you?" Han gasped, Luke's hand rubbing him steadily. "Gettin' to be bossy."
"You love it."
He thrust up against the tantalizing hand. "You bet. Love you, kid. Beard and all."
[Luke is still half in his role as master here, even when they can let down their guard. He does enjoy being in charge.]
Luke nibbled at Han's own mustache. "I'm even getting fond of this. I thought it looked silly at first." His fingers brushed the eyeplate. "I'll just be glad when this comes off. It gives me the creeps." He kissed Han again. "I implied I'd be interested in business contacts. We'll have lunch with Harvangul. He's going to want you."
"I know. 'Sokay. The medcenter made me look like his favorite dessert for a reason, Luke. Don't go getting jealous." He pressed harder against Luke's hand, wanting more friction, and gasped when Luke aligned his own hardness and rubbed them together.
It turned Luke on that he could reduce Han to incoherent fragments with just these touches. He struggled to clear his own thoughts enough to be coherent. "I'm not jealous. Don't worry. He won't get more than a kiss on you."
"Not-" Han gasped "worried." He drew a sharp breath. "Kid, stop or I won't-" Another breath, this one caught through clenched teeth.
Reluctant to let go of his lover, to lose the warm skin and gentle touch, Luke eased away, his hands still on Han's chest. "When we get out, bed as soon as we're dry."
Gathering what little composure he had left, Han nodded and stepped out. Luke followed, the water turning off automatically. Han tossed a towel around his waist, and wrapped one around Luke, rubbing him slowly and enjoying the feel of the strong body under the soft cloth. The bodyguard became body servant within the undoubtedly bugged rooms, but this part he didn't mind. The shower was the only place they spoke freely. Han took what liberties he could under the guise
of efficiently performing his duties: a quick clutch of Luke's bottom, a lingering stroke on his legs, a gentle cupping of the hardness that tempted him even through the towel.
[I always got the feeling this was one task Han never minded much.]
Luke, eager to take up where they had left off, brushed the towel aside and laid one hand on his chest, pressing him toward the bed. Even their normal lovemaking patterns had been altered for this mission. The easy pleasures of mood and desire had given way to rigid roles enforced by unseen eyes.
He wasn't sure if he should feel guilty about how much he enjoyed this, being watched over and pampered like the wealthy merchant he was pretending to be. He had already decided that once they had Leia's would-be assassin, he was going to treat Han to a few days of the same sort of luxury, just to watch him relax and enjoy it.
Han lay back and reached toward the nightstand for the lubricant. Luke half-knelt half-lay on top of him and caught his hand. He kissed Han, rubbing his still-damp body over the warm skin beneath him. He nipped at the spot behind the big Corellian's ear that always drove him crazy until Han was bucking beneath him like a half-tamed kizur. He stroked through the light down of hair to rub his nipples, only to find they were already hard. Luke gently flicked his thumb across
one and got a twitch. A slightly harder flick sent a shudder through his lover, thrilling him.
"Killing me here," Han whispered desperately in his ear. "Ready, Sir," he said, keeping his voice as flat as possible.
"Ready me, then." Luke hated the flatness, the humorless facade Han had to wear. The pretense that had so delighted him at first, like a secret romance under the cover of a convenience, now felt like too much to maintain. He wanted nothing more than to take Han as a lover instead of as a man making use of a servant, and be taken by him in return. But that would have to wait a few more days.
For now, Han was lingering, relishing the feel of the velvet skin under his fingers as he carefully prepared Luke. Seeing the flush in his face and the wideness of his eyes, Luke quickly pressed him to roll toward the wall. They had tried it face-to-face, but neither had found it comfortable. Han's legs were a heavy distraction and it was a long shot at an awkward angle. And facing each other had lost some appeal when each looked a little scrunched and a lot distracted. This was the
easiest, and most comfortable way they'd found.
[This is my personal prejudice creeping in. The legs over the shoulders is very awkward I’ve found. And the idea that only Luke is lubed with none inside is much closer to the reality of most anal sex.]
Luke ran lazy hands over the larger man's body, savoring the feel of smooth skin, the tickle of the crinkly hair. He kissed along Han's shoulder before tipping his face back for a real one. He'd not had much practice being the active partner, preferring to let his more-experienced lover handle that when they chose this particular style. Now, he had discovered that loving Han like this was more
than a pleasure, it was almost a gift. A gift that Han trusted him enough, a gift that he was willing to share the small pains of entry, the deep connections and intimacy of full contact. Able to wait no longer, Luke spread his lover with one hand, and used the other to guide himself in.
Han drew in his breath as Luke entered. It didn't hurt, not after the first small sting, not now that he was used to it. The first attempt on this trip, even with maximum lubricant and slow stretching, had been a test of will. It had been a while since they'd made love in that way, usually preferring subtler pleasures, and he was sore for a few hours.
Now, the feel of Luke inside of him, moving slowly, had him thrusting against the empty air again. It sent ripples of electricity through every limb. He pressed back, trying to take more, feeling the warmth of his lover against his back, the light stroke of a tongue along his shoulder blade. A quick nip at the sweet spot behind his ear made him groan. He couldn't take much more of this. Just
being around Luke aroused him, and this new dimension to Luke, the aggressive lover, the sensualist, was intoxicating. As a bodyguard he was not allowed to drink, but he didn't need to. The constant proximity of Luke was enough to sharpen his senses, while totally distracting his mind.
[Note, there is no prostate stimulation mentioned. My reading has led me to believe that not every man finds it comfortable to have it stimulated.]
Luke ran one hand down Han's body, feeling ribs, and belly, and coming to rest on his hip, just at the edge of the short curls. One finger spanned the gap to stroke the hardness pumped so eagerly toward his hand. A very soft moan delighted him, adding to the building heat in his own groin, the tightness that coiled in his own belly. Luke slipped his hand around the desperate cock, and moved in time with his hips, in a motion he knew would bring Han to rapid climax.
[Luke’s being a tease here.]
Luke held back, doing his best to map sand dunes and name stars in his head, knowing the moment he surrendered to the tight heat engulfing him, the rich scent of his lover, the soft skin under his hands and mouth, he'd be lost. That would be unfair to Han, so he fought, knowing he was losing even as he pressed more deeply and buried his face between Han's shoulder-blades. He felt wetness on his fingers and a tensing of the big body he was wrapped around. Then, he gave himself over to the pleasure, pounding deep and hard, wanting to prolong the delightful tension, but
wanting release from it as well. He opened himself, taking in the physical sensations and some through the Force as well, enough to catch the shape of Han's thoughts, the lingering pleasure and creeping afterglow. He buried his face in Han's neck, unable to last any longer, whispering his lover's name against his skin as he climaxed.
"Force, I love you," he managed, softly enough to be taken for a sigh. He curled into Han's back and fell asleep almost instantly.
The next morning, they spent working as their covers. Luke had rented a shop under the name Owen Aldar. The starsilk sold like wildfire, and he was busy all morning, measuring, making change and answering questions. Han stood, a looming presence, a head taller than most of the shoppers, discouraging shoplifters and cheats.
At midday, Sul Harvangul swept into the shop. He greeted Luke effusively and looked at Han with measurable hunger.
"Owen, you didn't call. I found out where you set up shop, and thought I'd sweep you off for lunch. Lock up. My treat." Luke locked down the till, and closed the shop. Sul led them to a waiting groundcar. "Can your man drive one of these? The destination is already plotted."
[Sul is based loosely on the character of Maximilian from Caberet]
"Relan, please," Luke gestured Han into the open cab of the groundcar, while he and Sul slid into the closed back section. He watched as Sul set the soundproofing.
"Relan, is it? A pretty name for a pretty slave. I want him, Owen. I'm prepared to offer a great deal for him."
"Premature, isn't it, Sul? You only saw him last night. You have no idea of his abilities, or his loyalty."
"You're right." Sul handed him a glass of violet wine. "But I'd like to find out. Maybe we should have lunch at my place." He tapped a new course into the groundcar's computer. In the cab, Han compensated for the change.
Luke pretended to sip his wine. Harvangul was not above poisoning or drugging a rival. "Very well. Perhaps a demonstration would be in order. Say, an hour with him?"
"Excellent. And what would you like in return, dear Owen?"
"Information. You see, I have a thriving business, but there is another operation that is a stone in my shoe. I'd like to be in a position to buy them out. Would you know anyone who could help me?"
[Both "fly in the ointment" and "thorn in the side" are Biblical phrases. i wanted something similar without the origin.]
"Ah, backers... I might know a few."
Luke looked down at his wine, and then up at Sul without raising his face. A single half-smile quirked his mouth. "Not quite. A man of your position, and repute, must surely know of some more direct methods."
[This expression is taken straight from an Omaha the Cat Dancer comic. It implies secrets, amusement and furtiveness.]
"You would like your rival's business to heat up?" The question was a deadpan.
"Precisely."
"That kind of information will cost you. I want a full-day's trial of Relan, three hundred yards of the starsilk, and twenty thousand credits."
"Relan, two hundred yards and ten thousand credits."
"Fifteen."
They sealed the deal with more wine, and the customary kiss. When Luke tried to make it brief and perfunctionary, Sul held him in and lingered a little.
[This is a definite Maximilian sort of trick]
"It's my body-servant you've negotiated for, not me," Luke reminded him.
"Everything has a price, dear Owen," Sul laughed, patting his cheek.
Sul Harvangul's apartment was in a lavish secured building. Han let the groundcar park itself in the designated slot, and bounded out to open the door for Luke and the merchant. The apartment itself was a sybaritic nightmare of luxury and bad taste: plush furniture and rich tapestries, expensive psy-art that showed the viewer whatever he was in the mood to see, cheap plas religious statues from a hundred worlds crowding a single shelving unit, tacky street vendor rugs and the capper, a filagree statue of a pair of lovers, on which each bit of carving was another pair of copulating men.
[The apartment is my whimsy run wild. I borrowed some of the idea from Barbara Hambly’s Ladies of Mandragyn, the religious statuary from the movie The Conversation, and the statue is loosely based on the Trophy from Myth Directions by Robert Lynn Asprin. I wanted to establish that Sul while wealthy has no notion of true value.]
"Most impressive, Sul."
The stimdust merchant spoke into a panel, and beckoned Luke to recline with him at a sunken table. "If your man would serve, I'll leave my droid in its charging closet."
"Relan," Luke commanded, gesturing to the food synth that had created a lunch to match the room. Han brought the dishes to the table, and poured the wine from a sealed bottle. Luke motioned him to sit on the floor nearby, and fed him bites of food by hand as he and Sul talked of trivialities. In the past couple years Luke had become adept at small talk, one more of the changes Han was still not used to.
Han bit down on his temper and stayed alert. It could be worse. Had he been playing the role of a pleasure slave, he'd have been expected to lie beside Luke, perhaps servicing him during the meal. He resisted the temptation to nip Luke's fingers as they slipped him another piece of fruit, just to remind his lover not to take the role too seriously.
Lunch was interminable.
Sul seemed to be drawing out his erotic tension, increasing the agony. He stared at Han, who wished his jumpsuit was less form-fitting. Luke for his part, squashed his jealousy, and bit down on the possessive words that sprang to his mouth. Not a jealous person by nature, he was surprised at himself. They had both known the mission would come to this, but somehow, seeing Sul's eyes wandering idly over Han's body irritated him more than he had expected. Both visitors breathed silent sighs of relief when their host indicated Han should clear away the remains
of their meal.
He handed Luke a data chip. Luke slipped it into a pocket-sized player and read the name and location to himself. Signs and countersigns, available services, everything was there. He nodded back at Sul.
"Relan, Sul would like a sample of your other talents," Luke said mildly. "He knows how effective you are as a bodyguard since I'm here." This was it, the crux of events. They had everything they needed, but had yet to get out with their lives.
"Yes, sir." Han stood before their host and began unloosing the gold sash. His face, normally so expressive, was flat. Luke watched, waiting for a chin twitch or an eyebrow waggle, anything that would tell him his lover was somewhere inside this borg bodyguard.
[Han is not going to betray himself. I tried to write him as if his sense of humor had been surgically removed. The fact that Sul finds cyborgs sexy makes him a complete pervert. Borgs aren’t well liked in the SW 'verse. In the 7th volume of the Marvel comic (immediately post ANH) Han takes the job of burying a borg on Spacer’s Hill and gets into no end of local trouble. It was my firsty encounter with the word, so it was in use well before Star Trek TNG]
"Such haste." Sul stood up. He stepped in close and ran questing hands over the big man's body before pulling him down for a kiss.
Han kissed back in a perfect, unemotional way, and felt the arms around him go limp. Luke had moved up behind Sul and sent him into unconsciousness with a Force suggestion. Han lowered their unconscious host to the cushions. Luke sat beside him and began rummaging in Sul's memories, adding new neural paths.
[This is actually a classic Kirk/Spock move. Kirk distracts and Spock neck pinches. I substituted some Force work instead]
Han took over at Sul's computer, coding his way past the security and encryption with the ease of long practice. He pulled up bank records and any other information he could find that linked Sul Harvangul to the bombing of Leia's office. Then he found the security camera. Cameras. Shit. Four of them to jury-rig.
[I assume Han has some fair computer hacker skills, living as he did on the fringe, and needing to keep operating in a highly computerized society]
A couple hours later, Luke wandered over to check. "All the false memories of enjoying you are implanted. He'll wake up tomorrow about noon, remembering a decadent afternoon and a wild night of passion, and us leaving at dawn." He leaned over with a kiss on Han's cheek, and looked at the computer.
"Any ideas on how to fool the cams?"
"Let me. I shouldn't do this, and you may have to carry me home." He stood up straight and began pulling ectoplasm from the Force, molding it. His eyes were solid blue with no pupils and they rolled ceiling-ward.
[This is some very advanced Force-manipulation, loosely based on the creative metapsychics of Julian May’s Milieu}
"Luke, don't hurt yourself." Han half-stood, but knew better than to disturb Luke at something this complex.
The warning was too late. Luke had created a holosim of Han and Sul, out of sheer Force and will. He aimed the cameras at it, made sure it covered the spot on the tape where he'd created the false memories, and let it run. He programmed the cameras to follow their exit, and place it at dawn. He managed to walk out the door, but promptly collapsed in Han's arms.
"Too much. Head exploding," he whispered, sagging against Han's chest.
"C'mon, let's go home. You're in no shape to reopen the shop." He helped Luke to walk until it became apparent it wasn't worth the effort. He scooped Luke up, staggering a bit at the smaller man's weight, and made his way to the street.
[This bit “it’s not worth it” is a direct steal from Gone with the Wind Ashley protests he can walk after being shot on a Klan raid, but Rhett overrules him and carries him to bed]
Luke had recovered enough to stand, leaning heavily on him, by the time he hailed a robohack.
Back at the hotel, Luke practically fell onto the bed, and was asleep before Han got the door shut. Han settled down in a chair and kept a worried watch on his lover. He knew, from past experience, that too much delicate Force manipulation would knock Luke cold for a few hours, and he'd awaken ravenously hungry. Han brought up a city directory on their terminal and began looking for unlimited buffets.
True to form, Luke woke up four hours later. He staggered to the 'fresher, and emerged a few minutes later looking better than he had all day, almost like his usual self.
"We have reservations for dinner, sir," Han told him, looking forward to the day he could drop the formality. "I knew you'd be hungry."
"Excellent work. Thanks." Luke leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We leave after we eat and before Sul wakes up." The lips wandered across his face to his mouth.
Han kissed him back, thinking of delaying dinner, but a loud growl from Luke's stomach stopped that notion. "Yes, sir."
During the trip to the restaurant, Luke used the robohack's courtesy terminal to get lift clearance, end their shop lease, arrange for their goods to be stored on his yacht and for Sul Harvangal's two hundred yards to be delivered.
Han chuckled softly as he leaned in to kiss Luke's ear and whisper, "Ever so honorable, this Owen Aldar."
"I'm an honest man making an honest living. Now bring that around front."
[I steal from the best and worst alike. This is a subtle nod to Jango Fett’s line in AOTC]
"As you wish, sir." The pleased twinkle in Han's eye belied the formality of the words as he leaned around to kiss Luke properly.
They made the jump with the coordinates Luke had gotten from the data chip. Two detours and three checkpoints later, their covers and lives still intact, they were cleared for the final meeting. One hitch, one funny look, even the slightest hint that there was anything more to them than an over-ambitious starsilk merchant and his bodyguard, and Leia would find herself without a family again. A tense moment had ensued when a medical scanner had shown Han was full of metal components.
Their contact had been unwilling to let a borg past his check-point. He'd been persuaded through judicious application of the Force.
[This bit is pure Daley-style. The condensing of the hair-raising tension into a single paragraph, so we can get to real action]
Han stood solemnly behind Luke's chair, alert and recording everything through a miniature camera in one of the studs that held the eyeplate on. It had been wired into his optic nerve, so all he had to do was focus his eye on the person he wanted record. He hated it. Looking half-borg was bad enough. An actual cybernetic implant, even one as tiny as this and for such a good cause, left him terrified. Luke had done a lot of talking to convince him on this one. The other implants
were purely cosmetic to hide this one: a metal plating of his skull, an arm made to look cybernetic to scanners, metal femurs. The doctors had promised to put him all back together with his own parts when he got back. He'd sic Chewie on them if they failed.
[I still don’t know why his femurs are metal. But this takes the disguise one step further, into true borg-dom. The fact that Luke is still crazy about him speaks well of Luke.]
"But Trader Aldar, our methods are very permanent and very expensive. Surely you can take care of your little price dispute like business people? Or there are the courts..." For all his law-abiding protest, Darvin Linalv was reputedly the largest seller of illegal explosives in the quadrent, maybe in the whole sector. His own bodyguards were massive humanoids that looked as if they could chew hullplating and spit out power-couplings.
[A GFFA variant on “Chew nails and spit out barbwire fence”]
"It has gone beyond that, and into personal insult, good Linalv. I offered to marry my rival's daughter, aligning our two concerns and sharing the profit that would come from a near monopoly on the commodity. The two-faced chit encouraged me, and then ran mewling to her father that I had offended her honor."
[in powerful circles, marriage is still a political and economic tool.]
"And had you?" Linalv leaned in for the juicy details.
"With Relan here to watch out for both of us? I think not. She hissed at me in parting that she knew my tastes and that she was not among them." He spared a caress for Han, the better to let the arms-dealer think him jaded and egotistical. "In truth she is not. But since when does one marry for love?"
"Indeed. And the courts?"
"All in the name of free trade. They can do nothing if a fool wishes to sell at a loss so that I am driven out of business. I want something effective. I want terror. I want destruction rained upon them until they beg me to save them from ruin by wedding the nerf-faced trull and taking charge of their operation. I want them to suffer." Luke's eyes glittered and for a moment Linalv leaned back, unnerved at the pale fury before him. "Can you give this to me?"
"Yes, yes, it should be no problem. For an operation of this scale..." Linalv tapped numbers into the portable readout and mumbled to himself for a moment "six operatives...twenty tons of...fire...com calls...assault." He looked up at Luke. "Trader Aldar, would you prefer the girl to be in pristine condition when she is given you, or is slightly used acceptable?"
Recoiling internally that this man was asking him in such bland terms whether he wanted his mythical rival's daughter raped, Luke thought hard and fast. "Can you have her accosted but let me prevent any harm?"
[A bit from the classic The Fantasticks, which interestingly enough was one for Ford’s early stage productions in the role of El Gallo]
"Of course, but it is more costly. The hazard to my operatives is greater." He returned to calculating. "Ah, there we have it, terror on a budget."
Han looked over Luke's shoulder at the itemized list of actions and their costs. The camera photographed the small scale war that was being offered for a quarter million credits.
"Far less than I thought it'd be. Are you sure your men are the best?" Luke looked up suspiciously.
"Of course they are."
"But how do I know?" Luke persisted. "What have they done?"
"Surely a man of your standing must know that such information is not given out."
"Well..." Luke pushed the readout back toward the arms dealer. "If you can't at least giveme an example, I certainly can't hire you. I mean, I know Sul said you were good, and carried out your mission to the letter for him. But I need something more concrete than a bomb that only killed a few low-level staff. Your men didn't even get Leia Organa in that blast."
"That blast wasn't meant to kill. It was a warning. A warning to back off the stimdust legalization. The message got through. Stimdust has been dropped from the Senate's agenda. We did exactly what Harvangul paid us to do. And we'll do exactly what you pay us to. You'll be drinking your bridal wine and counting your profit in less than a fifty-day, I guarantee."
"Very good." Luke set a moneycase on the table and the numbers rolled over to reveal the quarter-million. "Do the same for me. I will have coordinates, names and locations on a cube for you in one hour. For now, begin your preparations."
[The moneycase is patterned from the one in Heavy Metal]
Han had triggered the homing alert the second they'd arrived, and Republic security would be here within the hour. They returned to the ship and Luke made a business of making a cube for Linalv. They found themselves with most of the hour left, and likely under surveillance.
Luke was conducting a little surveillance of his own. Han had no idea how much the longer hair turned him on. Even the eyeplate was starting to seem sexy instead of scary. And green was definitely his lover's color, setting off his skin and bringing out the green in his eye. This trip had been a revelation for Luke about both of them, and he suspected that even after Han had been restored to himself, things might be different. He missed the teasing and humor, the biting wit he
had come to love. He would be glad to have that back. But he liked this compliant side of Han, the one that let him initiate the love making, arching so sweetly into his touch and dropping little touches throughout the day that signaled his willingness and arousal. He didn't want it all the time, but nothing said Han had to send it back into complete hiding.
He watched Han stowing away some loose bolts, and caught his eye. "Relan, here," he beckoned, gesturing between his feet.
Han sat down on the deckplate, half-wary, ready to spring, but Luke coaxed him into laying his head against one knee. It was something new Luke had created on the trip and Han found he liked it. It was sexy to sit there, his cheek pressed against the corded thigh, the faintest hint of musk reaching his nose. Luke stroked his hair softly, pulling him out of his arousal, then bent down to
kiss him and whisper, "When?"
"Another twenty. This could get ugly." Luke tipped his face up for a kiss and Han broke it quickly. "Sir, I am to guard you as well as pleasure you. Your father will be angry if harm comes through my inattention."
"The hatch is locked. What's to worry?" Luke was aware of the intruder on board even as he spoke. "Already ugly," he mumbled.
"You should listen to your bodyguard, borg-fucker," said one of the enforcers, closing on his chair.
[This was risky. I don’t often use vulgarity. But I figured it was shocking, insulting and appropriate.]
"Yeah, but a metal-head like him's gonna short out before we're done."
Han shoved Luke down and snapped off two shots from his kneeling position, taking each enforcer in the head. "Think again."
"Let me up." Luke's muffled voice came from the area of his knees. He sat upright and drew his own blaster, lightsaber in his other hand. So far no one knew Luke was anything more than a trader.
"Sorry about that. I had a chance and took it."
"And did splendidly at it, General Solo." Darvin Linalv clapped mockingly as he strode to where they sat. "You gave yourself away with the fast-draw, dear man." Mercenaries and other gunmen swarmed aboard the small ship. "And you must be the ever so-famous Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker. Your disguises were clever enough, and there are many humanoids who look like you. You fooled Sul Harvangul. You fooled my checkpoints. But you can't fool another Force-user, Jedi. You forgot to damp your aura."
Now that Darvin let it burst forth, Luke could tell he was indeed force-sensitive, but untrained. He cursed himself for six kinds of fool. He couldn't protect both of them from all the blaster bolts. The odds were bad that one of them would get shot if they fought. Han was calculating how many of the men with blast-rifles he could take out if he decided to shoot it out.
[I’m still not sure I like this. But if Linalv damped his aura, Luke wouldn’t see it unless he was actively looking for it.]
"Put your weapons on the deck, gentlemen and step away from them. I should execute you now, but I want to know why. Is it because of the bomb that wounded Organa?"
"No, we just hate having our lunch plans interrupted," Han said dryly, taking two steps back from his precious blaster.
[I love it when Han mouths off to the bad guys.]
"We do not deal in terror, Linalv. We are opposed to it, and will seek out and destroy anyone, independent or organized who attempts to--"
Linalv's mocking laughter cut Luke off. "This, from the greatest terrorist in the galaxy? This from a man who single-handedly slaughtered millions with one shot? Oh, you idealist, just because you won the war doesn't make you any more noble than those who do the same in another cause."
[There are two sides to every story. This emphasizes that the entire galaxy doesn’t necessarily think Luke is on the side of the angels.]
Explosions from outside drew their attention. Republic Security bombers were leveling the compound, as fighters covered them on strafing runs. Thinking rapidly, Linalv opened a com-channel.
"Attention Republic fleet. This is Darvin Linalv. I am holding General Solo and Jedi Skywalker hostage aboard the Sunfighter Franchise. Call off the attack or I will shoot Solo."
"Acknowledge Darvin Linalv. Breaking off attack." Wedge's voice was calm and level. The ships maintained a low altitude formation.
"You," he pointed at the two thugs nearest the hatch, "Go see what's left."
Han glanced at Luke. So much for a rescue. He seemed to hear Luke inside his head //When you get a chance, take it.//
"Boss, we're flat. Nothing left. They hit the munitions first." The first report straggled back aboard. Amid the looks of shock, Luke seized the bare split-second.
His lightsaber was in his hand and he was cutting through his opponents like a Tatooine whirlwind, faster than human eye could follow. About the same time, Han realized his blaster was hovering an inch from his own hand. He dropped two thugs without thinking and took aim at the third.
Luke came face to face with Darvin Linalv. "You are mine."
"I thought Jedi didn't seek revenge." Linalv hurled a small ball of Force at him. Luke deflected it.
"We don't." He sent Linalv's force-lightening back on the man, making him writhe under it. "But you have tried to kill my sister. And my lover. And me." With each accusation, the lightening grew stronger. "For that, you will pay through proper channels." A small gesture dispersed the lightening and sent Linalv to his knees, choking and gasping for air.
"Kid, don't." The enforcers were all down, and Han came to stand at Luke's side, staring at the choking man.
"I won't kill him. He'll be easier to transport unconscious." The calm, reasonable quality of Luke's voice, as if this was the most logical action in the universe, unnerved Han.
[Luke is still in complete control here. There is no rage in him, just pure cold anger. He has built himself up so hard against Linalv, he cannot see the man he is harming, only a murderer who tried to kill him, his lover and his sister.]
"Then make it quick. That's torture. I know." The last was spoken softly for Luke's ears only, and dragged up foul memories of Bespin.
Linalv toppled to the deck. "I'm sorry," Luke said, catching the tenor of his lover's thoughts.
"You could have just dropped him unconscious like Sul Harvangul. What were you thinking?"
"Let's turn him in and go home, my love." The endearment only made it worse, and Han pulled away when Luke touched him. They delivered the arms merchant into the hands of the security force and tossed the dead men off the ship. The security detail could mop up, they had done their share.
The sleek yacht made good time back to the Republic Governing Offices on Corellia. The trip was long, and silent. Han was upset by what he had seen in Luke's face as Linalv went down. Luke was bothered by his own pleasure in the man's agony, and by Han's reaction.
At last, an hour out of Corellia, Luke broke the silence. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was angry and it seemed like the reasonable thing to do. But I know what you're thinking and I am not my father."
"For a minute there, you looked like you wanted to be."
"Han, that's not fair."
"Isn't it? What's this then?" Han caught his hand and turned the signet so it caught the light. "Why a flamehawk, a legend that dies and renews itself in fire?"
[The choice was not deliberate in the first paragraphs. I wanted something impressive, like an eagle or a hawk, like men prefer on tattoos. The flamehawk, which I have used before in stories, seemed appropriate. As I hit the end, the reason became clear. And this is a comment on a piece of mine where I had Luke say,“Like the flamehawk of Sarda Vader rose from the burned, dying body of my father.”]
"I am not Vader reborn."
"You were gloating over Linalv. You wanted him to suffer."
"Yes, I did. I'm human. I wear my heart outside my body in two places, you and Leia, and he wounded it in both. I wanted him to die in as much pain as I could muster for him. But I did not kill him. I wanted to, but I did not. That is not my prerogative. He is alive and in proper custody."
There was something to this. Han had heard what Luke was capable of; although he hadn't actually seen the whole confrontation at Jabba's, the others had filled him in. But before, the arrogant Jedi act had always seemed just that: an act. He sat and thought for a while.
"Angry I can understand," he conceded, remembering a few of his own rasher actions, and some done in cold blood. "Just promise me you'll think before you ride the rage too far?"
Seeing how much it meant to Han, Luke nodded. "I will. We'll discuss this more when you're done in the medcenter. You're going in as soon as we land and coming out your old self."
"I can only hope." He finally gave in to the urge to scratch at the eyeplate, and crack the durasteel knuckles of his left hand. This uneasy peace was all he'd get out of Luke for now.
[This is still fairly early in the relationship, a couple-three years in. I suspect neither has completely come to terms with Luke’s lineage or abilities.]
They landed and took the waiting transport to the medcenter where Han was expected. The meddroids whisked him through in-processing, all records and expenses cleared by the highest levels of government.
They stopped Luke at the doorway of surgery. He halted the floaterstretch. "Han, I love you." He leaned over and kissed his lover, stroking the eyeplate for the last time.
Han looked up into the clear blue eyes, and saw only Luke. None of the anger that he'd seen earlier remained, only the same burning desire for justice that he'd always seen on that face. He decided that maybe justice sometimes required anger of those who served her. "Hey, kid," he said brushing Luke's chin as the floaterstretch began moving again, "Shave for me."
The one-sided smile lingered in Luke's mind as the operating room doors closed. Han was his anchor against the darkness, something his father had never had. He went down to the vending area to find a razor and a 'fresher.
[The ending implies Luke is willing to give up maturity, and return to being “the kid” a more innocent time and one where he is in less danger of the darkness. And Han will anchor him against it, so that he will not fall.]
morgan_d who wanted the commentaryBluffs
By Angel
[This was originally written for the Con*Stricted By Plot 2 zine. I had to include gambling and the words “I think I’ve already lost you.” So I thought about it, and came up with the idea that one was posing as a servant/slave-bodyguard to the other. Given the size, I opted to make Han the bodyguard.]
Places like this were all the same: a lowlife dive in the front, with a well concealed back room. The smoke of a dozen different plants filled the air, mingling with spilled intoxicants and personal scents of half a hundred patrons, human and other.
Han Solo balanced the tray very carefully as he carried it to the back room. He felt oddly out of place, and definitely not himself at all. Although this sort of rendezvous was old hat, the conditions that he and Luke were working under left him uncomfortable.
His usual black and white clothing had been discarded in favor of a slightly too-stylish green glitter-silk jumpsuit, with matching boots. A durasteel cage weighed on his left shoulder, encasing him to the fingertips, making his arm look half-cybernetic and a gold metalweave sash with dangling coins, a gunfighter's trophy sash, hung at his waist. The coins, each marking a dead opponent, jingled as he walked, warning the fool-hardy of his lethality. Only his blaster in its old
quick-draw rig was familiar.
[I wanted them in disguise. So I made Han a cyborg, and a gunfighter. He has a good fast draw, but he can’t take a professional gunslinger. Glittersilk is the creation of ZP Florian]
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall he was approaching and stared. His hair was longer, down on his shoulders, force grown in a medcenter, and jet black. A gold ring held it in a tight, short ponytail at the nape of his neck. He stopped himself from touching it and instead rubbed surreptitiously at the mustache he had raised. It itched more than the screws in his skull, holding the metal plate over his left eye. The plate was looksteel, one way transparent, and sported
a Flamehawk, accented with blazestones that matched the one in his ear. That last was the final horrible touch. It said, in this part of space at least, that he was owned.
[The long hair comes from Mosquito Coast, and the earring from later Ford films. It was originally in his earlobe. However, when Alex drew him, she put the ring up in the cartilage so I changed it. The idea of earrings as a mark of slavery comes from John Norman’s Gor.]
Once more, he found himself thinking disloyal thoughts about Luke, who hadn't had to make nearly as many changes for the trip. A quick lightening of his hair to a rich gold, a beard and change of clothing had been the extent of his alteration. Playing the bodyguard to Luke's merchant was one thing, but even pretending he was a slave left him on edge most of the time. And although the doctors assured him he shouldn't feel anything, sometimes the more deeply implanted body-parts itched. Only for Luke would he even have agreed to come along.
[Luke’s appearance here is very close to Mark’s in Hamilton. I love the bearded look]
A good many dramatic situations begin with screaming and this one was no different.
[This line is a nod to Barbarella and one of my favorite quotes.]
Han and Luke had been in Leia's office, prying her away from her work to take her for lunch, when a junior aide had burst in, shrieking about bombs and Imperial sympathizers.
They evacuated as was required, in a maneuver that had become tiresomely familiar in the three years since Endor, but none of them took the threat seriously enough.
Leia had turned back, just as her office bloomed into flowers of incandescence. Luke had been able to shield her from the worst of the blast with the Force, but she had been in the bacta tank for days. During that time, Luke hadn't slept and had barely eaten, as he helped Republic Security tracks down the assassins who had tried to kill them all.
[I wanted Leia injured gravely, but not fatally. There had to be a credible reason for the boys to take this mission. I just made it personal.]
Han stepped through the holographic mirror that led to the back room just as Luke tossed the black die. The blazestone signet ring bearing a Flamehawk flashed red in the dark room. The players held their breath. Han made a circuit of the table, delivering the drinks he'd been sent to get. The die came up a 9, exactly what Luke needed. He picked up another from the rack in front of him and rolled. A 2. The droid croupier returned the errant die and passed to the next man who rolled
a three. Finally, the man across from Luke, with the red dice, rolled the needed 10.
The game was easy enough: roll the next number in the sequence. Each player put a token in before he rolled, and the pot was split between all the players according to a percentage chart. Luke had been balancing his wins and losses with the Force, trying to appear harmless but not a complete sucker.
[I created the game myself. I wanted something that wasn’t earth based, but wasn’t sabbac either.]
Every man in the room was blond, short and bearded, as was typical of this system. Luke fit right in. He was passing for a starsilk merchant, and dressed the part. The dark blue matched his eyes and sparkled lavishly in the dim light. While the croupier divided the tokens, Han leaned in a little closer and whispered "How are you doing?"
"Not too well. I think I already lost you." The light tone in his voice would be mistaken for rich-man carelessness, but it told Han he was just teasing. "And the Sunfighter Franchise too." The Falcon had been far too recognizable for this mission. Besides, the sleek star yacht fit Luke's persona better.
[The Sunfighter Franchise is one of Han’s many false registrations for the Falcon. This one comes from Han Solo’s Revenge. It seemed fitting to name the borrowed yacht for her.]
Bodyguards being notoriously humorless, Han took the words at face value. "Not the ship, sir?" He'd tried when they had practiced, but the word "Master" would not come out of his mouth. They had agreed on "Sir" since a bodyguard had more status than the sort of slave they both associated with the more servile term. The mustache had raised eyebrows earlier as well, for a similar reason: facial hair was the prerogative of free men and they guarded it jealously.
[Even posing as a slave, Han is unable to bend his neck far enough. The antipathy was something Daley created and Crispin expanded on.]
"He's winning," grumbled the man on Luke's other side, their target. Sparing a lingering look for Han, one of many this evening, he added "Unfortunately."
Luke managed an oily smile. "Relan's a prize, isn't he? My father won him for me in a game very like this, many years ago."
"Would you be willing to put him up for wager?" The other man's blue eyes fairly gleamed as he threw out his die and got a one.
"By no means." Luke ran a possessive hand down Han's cheek and chest. "Not for the pittances we're playing for here. He's very special to me."
The mark tossed his second die and got a two. "But everything has a price." He boldly reached out and circled his finger around the blazestone earring. "I would pay well for a man like this." His third die came up a nine.
"This isn't the place to discuss it," Luke said, drawing Han slightly out of the man's reach before he could bristle too much. "Perhaps later?" He tossed out his die and it rolled the 3 he needed.
"Dinner. Tomorrow. My card, Owen. Call and we'll set a time."
[Luke is using his uncles name as a pseudonym. The Owen Aldar is formed from his uncle and a condensed version of “Alderaan”}
Luke rolled his four, and five, but then an eleven, which passed the die to the next shooter, before taking the paplas strip. "Tomorrow then, my friend."
[Paplas=paper+plastic. It’s a polymer based paper one of my fanon contributions.]
The round played out and Luke won. The man left. Luke stayed for one last round, cashed his tokens for the local currency, and left, with Han shadowing him.
Even in their hotel room, they couldn't let down the pretense. Spying was a time-honored hobby of the merchants in this system. Han went first, pressing the light panel with the barrel of his blaster, checking for intruders.
Luke followed him. Once in, with the door shut, he whispered, "To the shower, and we'll talk."
Once inside the cubicle, the water blocking their voices, Luke reached up and pulled his lover down for a kiss. He made it long and slow and sweet, repayment for all the indignities Han had suffered this evening. He relaxed as he felt Han's arms gather him in tighter.
"I'm sorry about all this," he whispered.
"I knew what I was getting into when I said I'd do it," Han replied. "Update me."
"His name is Sul Harvangul, a stimdust merchant with plenty of underworld connections, and a long history of Imperial sympathies. He washed out of the academy because of the dust. He kept his connections, and supplied stimdust to half the Empire. When the New Republic came in, his business fragmented, and profits plummeted. Now with the decriminalization, he stands to lose almost everything. And if you don't stop that-"
[If I could rewrite, I’d take this whole thing out. It’s an annoying expository block and I’ve never been happy with any of it, except the last line.]
"Stop what?" Han gave his best innocent look while he continued rubbing along the cleft of Luke's bottom with his flesh hand. "Update, don't rehash what I know, kid."
"Or don't stop," Luke pushed him back against the wall of the shower, and rubbed up against him. The feel of Han always thrilled him, and the metal touch of the cybernetic arm was perversely exciting, making him want to find his lover under all the disguise. "I thought you never paid attention during briefings," he added, letting the words blow the water away from Han's shoulder. His own hands were busy, the left sliding slowly down his lover's body, as the right coaxed out
the gold band holding Han's hair. He buried his hand in it and pulled Han's face down again for another kiss.
"You're loving this, aren't you?" Han gasped, Luke's hand rubbing him steadily. "Gettin' to be bossy."
"You love it."
He thrust up against the tantalizing hand. "You bet. Love you, kid. Beard and all."
[Luke is still half in his role as master here, even when they can let down their guard. He does enjoy being in charge.]
Luke nibbled at Han's own mustache. "I'm even getting fond of this. I thought it looked silly at first." His fingers brushed the eyeplate. "I'll just be glad when this comes off. It gives me the creeps." He kissed Han again. "I implied I'd be interested in business contacts. We'll have lunch with Harvangul. He's going to want you."
"I know. 'Sokay. The medcenter made me look like his favorite dessert for a reason, Luke. Don't go getting jealous." He pressed harder against Luke's hand, wanting more friction, and gasped when Luke aligned his own hardness and rubbed them together.
It turned Luke on that he could reduce Han to incoherent fragments with just these touches. He struggled to clear his own thoughts enough to be coherent. "I'm not jealous. Don't worry. He won't get more than a kiss on you."
"Not-" Han gasped "worried." He drew a sharp breath. "Kid, stop or I won't-" Another breath, this one caught through clenched teeth.
Reluctant to let go of his lover, to lose the warm skin and gentle touch, Luke eased away, his hands still on Han's chest. "When we get out, bed as soon as we're dry."
Gathering what little composure he had left, Han nodded and stepped out. Luke followed, the water turning off automatically. Han tossed a towel around his waist, and wrapped one around Luke, rubbing him slowly and enjoying the feel of the strong body under the soft cloth. The bodyguard became body servant within the undoubtedly bugged rooms, but this part he didn't mind. The shower was the only place they spoke freely. Han took what liberties he could under the guise
of efficiently performing his duties: a quick clutch of Luke's bottom, a lingering stroke on his legs, a gentle cupping of the hardness that tempted him even through the towel.
[I always got the feeling this was one task Han never minded much.]
Luke, eager to take up where they had left off, brushed the towel aside and laid one hand on his chest, pressing him toward the bed. Even their normal lovemaking patterns had been altered for this mission. The easy pleasures of mood and desire had given way to rigid roles enforced by unseen eyes.
He wasn't sure if he should feel guilty about how much he enjoyed this, being watched over and pampered like the wealthy merchant he was pretending to be. He had already decided that once they had Leia's would-be assassin, he was going to treat Han to a few days of the same sort of luxury, just to watch him relax and enjoy it.
Han lay back and reached toward the nightstand for the lubricant. Luke half-knelt half-lay on top of him and caught his hand. He kissed Han, rubbing his still-damp body over the warm skin beneath him. He nipped at the spot behind the big Corellian's ear that always drove him crazy until Han was bucking beneath him like a half-tamed kizur. He stroked through the light down of hair to rub his nipples, only to find they were already hard. Luke gently flicked his thumb across
one and got a twitch. A slightly harder flick sent a shudder through his lover, thrilling him.
"Killing me here," Han whispered desperately in his ear. "Ready, Sir," he said, keeping his voice as flat as possible.
"Ready me, then." Luke hated the flatness, the humorless facade Han had to wear. The pretense that had so delighted him at first, like a secret romance under the cover of a convenience, now felt like too much to maintain. He wanted nothing more than to take Han as a lover instead of as a man making use of a servant, and be taken by him in return. But that would have to wait a few more days.
For now, Han was lingering, relishing the feel of the velvet skin under his fingers as he carefully prepared Luke. Seeing the flush in his face and the wideness of his eyes, Luke quickly pressed him to roll toward the wall. They had tried it face-to-face, but neither had found it comfortable. Han's legs were a heavy distraction and it was a long shot at an awkward angle. And facing each other had lost some appeal when each looked a little scrunched and a lot distracted. This was the
easiest, and most comfortable way they'd found.
[This is my personal prejudice creeping in. The legs over the shoulders is very awkward I’ve found. And the idea that only Luke is lubed with none inside is much closer to the reality of most anal sex.]
Luke ran lazy hands over the larger man's body, savoring the feel of smooth skin, the tickle of the crinkly hair. He kissed along Han's shoulder before tipping his face back for a real one. He'd not had much practice being the active partner, preferring to let his more-experienced lover handle that when they chose this particular style. Now, he had discovered that loving Han like this was more
than a pleasure, it was almost a gift. A gift that Han trusted him enough, a gift that he was willing to share the small pains of entry, the deep connections and intimacy of full contact. Able to wait no longer, Luke spread his lover with one hand, and used the other to guide himself in.
Han drew in his breath as Luke entered. It didn't hurt, not after the first small sting, not now that he was used to it. The first attempt on this trip, even with maximum lubricant and slow stretching, had been a test of will. It had been a while since they'd made love in that way, usually preferring subtler pleasures, and he was sore for a few hours.
Now, the feel of Luke inside of him, moving slowly, had him thrusting against the empty air again. It sent ripples of electricity through every limb. He pressed back, trying to take more, feeling the warmth of his lover against his back, the light stroke of a tongue along his shoulder blade. A quick nip at the sweet spot behind his ear made him groan. He couldn't take much more of this. Just
being around Luke aroused him, and this new dimension to Luke, the aggressive lover, the sensualist, was intoxicating. As a bodyguard he was not allowed to drink, but he didn't need to. The constant proximity of Luke was enough to sharpen his senses, while totally distracting his mind.
[Note, there is no prostate stimulation mentioned. My reading has led me to believe that not every man finds it comfortable to have it stimulated.]
Luke ran one hand down Han's body, feeling ribs, and belly, and coming to rest on his hip, just at the edge of the short curls. One finger spanned the gap to stroke the hardness pumped so eagerly toward his hand. A very soft moan delighted him, adding to the building heat in his own groin, the tightness that coiled in his own belly. Luke slipped his hand around the desperate cock, and moved in time with his hips, in a motion he knew would bring Han to rapid climax.
[Luke’s being a tease here.]
Luke held back, doing his best to map sand dunes and name stars in his head, knowing the moment he surrendered to the tight heat engulfing him, the rich scent of his lover, the soft skin under his hands and mouth, he'd be lost. That would be unfair to Han, so he fought, knowing he was losing even as he pressed more deeply and buried his face between Han's shoulder-blades. He felt wetness on his fingers and a tensing of the big body he was wrapped around. Then, he gave himself over to the pleasure, pounding deep and hard, wanting to prolong the delightful tension, but
wanting release from it as well. He opened himself, taking in the physical sensations and some through the Force as well, enough to catch the shape of Han's thoughts, the lingering pleasure and creeping afterglow. He buried his face in Han's neck, unable to last any longer, whispering his lover's name against his skin as he climaxed.
"Force, I love you," he managed, softly enough to be taken for a sigh. He curled into Han's back and fell asleep almost instantly.
The next morning, they spent working as their covers. Luke had rented a shop under the name Owen Aldar. The starsilk sold like wildfire, and he was busy all morning, measuring, making change and answering questions. Han stood, a looming presence, a head taller than most of the shoppers, discouraging shoplifters and cheats.
At midday, Sul Harvangul swept into the shop. He greeted Luke effusively and looked at Han with measurable hunger.
"Owen, you didn't call. I found out where you set up shop, and thought I'd sweep you off for lunch. Lock up. My treat." Luke locked down the till, and closed the shop. Sul led them to a waiting groundcar. "Can your man drive one of these? The destination is already plotted."
[Sul is based loosely on the character of Maximilian from Caberet]
"Relan, please," Luke gestured Han into the open cab of the groundcar, while he and Sul slid into the closed back section. He watched as Sul set the soundproofing.
"Relan, is it? A pretty name for a pretty slave. I want him, Owen. I'm prepared to offer a great deal for him."
"Premature, isn't it, Sul? You only saw him last night. You have no idea of his abilities, or his loyalty."
"You're right." Sul handed him a glass of violet wine. "But I'd like to find out. Maybe we should have lunch at my place." He tapped a new course into the groundcar's computer. In the cab, Han compensated for the change.
Luke pretended to sip his wine. Harvangul was not above poisoning or drugging a rival. "Very well. Perhaps a demonstration would be in order. Say, an hour with him?"
"Excellent. And what would you like in return, dear Owen?"
"Information. You see, I have a thriving business, but there is another operation that is a stone in my shoe. I'd like to be in a position to buy them out. Would you know anyone who could help me?"
[Both "fly in the ointment" and "thorn in the side" are Biblical phrases. i wanted something similar without the origin.]
"Ah, backers... I might know a few."
Luke looked down at his wine, and then up at Sul without raising his face. A single half-smile quirked his mouth. "Not quite. A man of your position, and repute, must surely know of some more direct methods."
[This expression is taken straight from an Omaha the Cat Dancer comic. It implies secrets, amusement and furtiveness.]
"You would like your rival's business to heat up?" The question was a deadpan.
"Precisely."
"That kind of information will cost you. I want a full-day's trial of Relan, three hundred yards of the starsilk, and twenty thousand credits."
"Relan, two hundred yards and ten thousand credits."
"Fifteen."
They sealed the deal with more wine, and the customary kiss. When Luke tried to make it brief and perfunctionary, Sul held him in and lingered a little.
[This is a definite Maximilian sort of trick]
"It's my body-servant you've negotiated for, not me," Luke reminded him.
"Everything has a price, dear Owen," Sul laughed, patting his cheek.
Sul Harvangul's apartment was in a lavish secured building. Han let the groundcar park itself in the designated slot, and bounded out to open the door for Luke and the merchant. The apartment itself was a sybaritic nightmare of luxury and bad taste: plush furniture and rich tapestries, expensive psy-art that showed the viewer whatever he was in the mood to see, cheap plas religious statues from a hundred worlds crowding a single shelving unit, tacky street vendor rugs and the capper, a filagree statue of a pair of lovers, on which each bit of carving was another pair of copulating men.
[The apartment is my whimsy run wild. I borrowed some of the idea from Barbara Hambly’s Ladies of Mandragyn, the religious statuary from the movie The Conversation, and the statue is loosely based on the Trophy from Myth Directions by Robert Lynn Asprin. I wanted to establish that Sul while wealthy has no notion of true value.]
"Most impressive, Sul."
The stimdust merchant spoke into a panel, and beckoned Luke to recline with him at a sunken table. "If your man would serve, I'll leave my droid in its charging closet."
"Relan," Luke commanded, gesturing to the food synth that had created a lunch to match the room. Han brought the dishes to the table, and poured the wine from a sealed bottle. Luke motioned him to sit on the floor nearby, and fed him bites of food by hand as he and Sul talked of trivialities. In the past couple years Luke had become adept at small talk, one more of the changes Han was still not used to.
Han bit down on his temper and stayed alert. It could be worse. Had he been playing the role of a pleasure slave, he'd have been expected to lie beside Luke, perhaps servicing him during the meal. He resisted the temptation to nip Luke's fingers as they slipped him another piece of fruit, just to remind his lover not to take the role too seriously.
Lunch was interminable.
Sul seemed to be drawing out his erotic tension, increasing the agony. He stared at Han, who wished his jumpsuit was less form-fitting. Luke for his part, squashed his jealousy, and bit down on the possessive words that sprang to his mouth. Not a jealous person by nature, he was surprised at himself. They had both known the mission would come to this, but somehow, seeing Sul's eyes wandering idly over Han's body irritated him more than he had expected. Both visitors breathed silent sighs of relief when their host indicated Han should clear away the remains
of their meal.
He handed Luke a data chip. Luke slipped it into a pocket-sized player and read the name and location to himself. Signs and countersigns, available services, everything was there. He nodded back at Sul.
"Relan, Sul would like a sample of your other talents," Luke said mildly. "He knows how effective you are as a bodyguard since I'm here." This was it, the crux of events. They had everything they needed, but had yet to get out with their lives.
"Yes, sir." Han stood before their host and began unloosing the gold sash. His face, normally so expressive, was flat. Luke watched, waiting for a chin twitch or an eyebrow waggle, anything that would tell him his lover was somewhere inside this borg bodyguard.
[Han is not going to betray himself. I tried to write him as if his sense of humor had been surgically removed. The fact that Sul finds cyborgs sexy makes him a complete pervert. Borgs aren’t well liked in the SW 'verse. In the 7th volume of the Marvel comic (immediately post ANH) Han takes the job of burying a borg on Spacer’s Hill and gets into no end of local trouble. It was my firsty encounter with the word, so it was in use well before Star Trek TNG]
"Such haste." Sul stood up. He stepped in close and ran questing hands over the big man's body before pulling him down for a kiss.
Han kissed back in a perfect, unemotional way, and felt the arms around him go limp. Luke had moved up behind Sul and sent him into unconsciousness with a Force suggestion. Han lowered their unconscious host to the cushions. Luke sat beside him and began rummaging in Sul's memories, adding new neural paths.
[This is actually a classic Kirk/Spock move. Kirk distracts and Spock neck pinches. I substituted some Force work instead]
Han took over at Sul's computer, coding his way past the security and encryption with the ease of long practice. He pulled up bank records and any other information he could find that linked Sul Harvangul to the bombing of Leia's office. Then he found the security camera. Cameras. Shit. Four of them to jury-rig.
[I assume Han has some fair computer hacker skills, living as he did on the fringe, and needing to keep operating in a highly computerized society]
A couple hours later, Luke wandered over to check. "All the false memories of enjoying you are implanted. He'll wake up tomorrow about noon, remembering a decadent afternoon and a wild night of passion, and us leaving at dawn." He leaned over with a kiss on Han's cheek, and looked at the computer.
"Any ideas on how to fool the cams?"
"Let me. I shouldn't do this, and you may have to carry me home." He stood up straight and began pulling ectoplasm from the Force, molding it. His eyes were solid blue with no pupils and they rolled ceiling-ward.
[This is some very advanced Force-manipulation, loosely based on the creative metapsychics of Julian May’s Milieu}
"Luke, don't hurt yourself." Han half-stood, but knew better than to disturb Luke at something this complex.
The warning was too late. Luke had created a holosim of Han and Sul, out of sheer Force and will. He aimed the cameras at it, made sure it covered the spot on the tape where he'd created the false memories, and let it run. He programmed the cameras to follow their exit, and place it at dawn. He managed to walk out the door, but promptly collapsed in Han's arms.
"Too much. Head exploding," he whispered, sagging against Han's chest.
"C'mon, let's go home. You're in no shape to reopen the shop." He helped Luke to walk until it became apparent it wasn't worth the effort. He scooped Luke up, staggering a bit at the smaller man's weight, and made his way to the street.
[This bit “it’s not worth it” is a direct steal from Gone with the Wind Ashley protests he can walk after being shot on a Klan raid, but Rhett overrules him and carries him to bed]
Luke had recovered enough to stand, leaning heavily on him, by the time he hailed a robohack.
Back at the hotel, Luke practically fell onto the bed, and was asleep before Han got the door shut. Han settled down in a chair and kept a worried watch on his lover. He knew, from past experience, that too much delicate Force manipulation would knock Luke cold for a few hours, and he'd awaken ravenously hungry. Han brought up a city directory on their terminal and began looking for unlimited buffets.
True to form, Luke woke up four hours later. He staggered to the 'fresher, and emerged a few minutes later looking better than he had all day, almost like his usual self.
"We have reservations for dinner, sir," Han told him, looking forward to the day he could drop the formality. "I knew you'd be hungry."
"Excellent work. Thanks." Luke leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We leave after we eat and before Sul wakes up." The lips wandered across his face to his mouth.
Han kissed him back, thinking of delaying dinner, but a loud growl from Luke's stomach stopped that notion. "Yes, sir."
During the trip to the restaurant, Luke used the robohack's courtesy terminal to get lift clearance, end their shop lease, arrange for their goods to be stored on his yacht and for Sul Harvangal's two hundred yards to be delivered.
Han chuckled softly as he leaned in to kiss Luke's ear and whisper, "Ever so honorable, this Owen Aldar."
"I'm an honest man making an honest living. Now bring that around front."
[I steal from the best and worst alike. This is a subtle nod to Jango Fett’s line in AOTC]
"As you wish, sir." The pleased twinkle in Han's eye belied the formality of the words as he leaned around to kiss Luke properly.
They made the jump with the coordinates Luke had gotten from the data chip. Two detours and three checkpoints later, their covers and lives still intact, they were cleared for the final meeting. One hitch, one funny look, even the slightest hint that there was anything more to them than an over-ambitious starsilk merchant and his bodyguard, and Leia would find herself without a family again. A tense moment had ensued when a medical scanner had shown Han was full of metal components.
Their contact had been unwilling to let a borg past his check-point. He'd been persuaded through judicious application of the Force.
[This bit is pure Daley-style. The condensing of the hair-raising tension into a single paragraph, so we can get to real action]
Han stood solemnly behind Luke's chair, alert and recording everything through a miniature camera in one of the studs that held the eyeplate on. It had been wired into his optic nerve, so all he had to do was focus his eye on the person he wanted record. He hated it. Looking half-borg was bad enough. An actual cybernetic implant, even one as tiny as this and for such a good cause, left him terrified. Luke had done a lot of talking to convince him on this one. The other implants
were purely cosmetic to hide this one: a metal plating of his skull, an arm made to look cybernetic to scanners, metal femurs. The doctors had promised to put him all back together with his own parts when he got back. He'd sic Chewie on them if they failed.
[I still don’t know why his femurs are metal. But this takes the disguise one step further, into true borg-dom. The fact that Luke is still crazy about him speaks well of Luke.]
"But Trader Aldar, our methods are very permanent and very expensive. Surely you can take care of your little price dispute like business people? Or there are the courts..." For all his law-abiding protest, Darvin Linalv was reputedly the largest seller of illegal explosives in the quadrent, maybe in the whole sector. His own bodyguards were massive humanoids that looked as if they could chew hullplating and spit out power-couplings.
[A GFFA variant on “Chew nails and spit out barbwire fence”]
"It has gone beyond that, and into personal insult, good Linalv. I offered to marry my rival's daughter, aligning our two concerns and sharing the profit that would come from a near monopoly on the commodity. The two-faced chit encouraged me, and then ran mewling to her father that I had offended her honor."
[in powerful circles, marriage is still a political and economic tool.]
"And had you?" Linalv leaned in for the juicy details.
"With Relan here to watch out for both of us? I think not. She hissed at me in parting that she knew my tastes and that she was not among them." He spared a caress for Han, the better to let the arms-dealer think him jaded and egotistical. "In truth she is not. But since when does one marry for love?"
"Indeed. And the courts?"
"All in the name of free trade. They can do nothing if a fool wishes to sell at a loss so that I am driven out of business. I want something effective. I want terror. I want destruction rained upon them until they beg me to save them from ruin by wedding the nerf-faced trull and taking charge of their operation. I want them to suffer." Luke's eyes glittered and for a moment Linalv leaned back, unnerved at the pale fury before him. "Can you give this to me?"
"Yes, yes, it should be no problem. For an operation of this scale..." Linalv tapped numbers into the portable readout and mumbled to himself for a moment "six operatives...twenty tons of...fire...com calls...assault." He looked up at Luke. "Trader Aldar, would you prefer the girl to be in pristine condition when she is given you, or is slightly used acceptable?"
Recoiling internally that this man was asking him in such bland terms whether he wanted his mythical rival's daughter raped, Luke thought hard and fast. "Can you have her accosted but let me prevent any harm?"
[A bit from the classic The Fantasticks, which interestingly enough was one for Ford’s early stage productions in the role of El Gallo]
"Of course, but it is more costly. The hazard to my operatives is greater." He returned to calculating. "Ah, there we have it, terror on a budget."
Han looked over Luke's shoulder at the itemized list of actions and their costs. The camera photographed the small scale war that was being offered for a quarter million credits.
"Far less than I thought it'd be. Are you sure your men are the best?" Luke looked up suspiciously.
"Of course they are."
"But how do I know?" Luke persisted. "What have they done?"
"Surely a man of your standing must know that such information is not given out."
"Well..." Luke pushed the readout back toward the arms dealer. "If you can't at least giveme an example, I certainly can't hire you. I mean, I know Sul said you were good, and carried out your mission to the letter for him. But I need something more concrete than a bomb that only killed a few low-level staff. Your men didn't even get Leia Organa in that blast."
"That blast wasn't meant to kill. It was a warning. A warning to back off the stimdust legalization. The message got through. Stimdust has been dropped from the Senate's agenda. We did exactly what Harvangul paid us to do. And we'll do exactly what you pay us to. You'll be drinking your bridal wine and counting your profit in less than a fifty-day, I guarantee."
"Very good." Luke set a moneycase on the table and the numbers rolled over to reveal the quarter-million. "Do the same for me. I will have coordinates, names and locations on a cube for you in one hour. For now, begin your preparations."
[The moneycase is patterned from the one in Heavy Metal]
Han had triggered the homing alert the second they'd arrived, and Republic security would be here within the hour. They returned to the ship and Luke made a business of making a cube for Linalv. They found themselves with most of the hour left, and likely under surveillance.
Luke was conducting a little surveillance of his own. Han had no idea how much the longer hair turned him on. Even the eyeplate was starting to seem sexy instead of scary. And green was definitely his lover's color, setting off his skin and bringing out the green in his eye. This trip had been a revelation for Luke about both of them, and he suspected that even after Han had been restored to himself, things might be different. He missed the teasing and humor, the biting wit he
had come to love. He would be glad to have that back. But he liked this compliant side of Han, the one that let him initiate the love making, arching so sweetly into his touch and dropping little touches throughout the day that signaled his willingness and arousal. He didn't want it all the time, but nothing said Han had to send it back into complete hiding.
He watched Han stowing away some loose bolts, and caught his eye. "Relan, here," he beckoned, gesturing between his feet.
Han sat down on the deckplate, half-wary, ready to spring, but Luke coaxed him into laying his head against one knee. It was something new Luke had created on the trip and Han found he liked it. It was sexy to sit there, his cheek pressed against the corded thigh, the faintest hint of musk reaching his nose. Luke stroked his hair softly, pulling him out of his arousal, then bent down to
kiss him and whisper, "When?"
"Another twenty. This could get ugly." Luke tipped his face up for a kiss and Han broke it quickly. "Sir, I am to guard you as well as pleasure you. Your father will be angry if harm comes through my inattention."
"The hatch is locked. What's to worry?" Luke was aware of the intruder on board even as he spoke. "Already ugly," he mumbled.
"You should listen to your bodyguard, borg-fucker," said one of the enforcers, closing on his chair.
[This was risky. I don’t often use vulgarity. But I figured it was shocking, insulting and appropriate.]
"Yeah, but a metal-head like him's gonna short out before we're done."
Han shoved Luke down and snapped off two shots from his kneeling position, taking each enforcer in the head. "Think again."
"Let me up." Luke's muffled voice came from the area of his knees. He sat upright and drew his own blaster, lightsaber in his other hand. So far no one knew Luke was anything more than a trader.
"Sorry about that. I had a chance and took it."
"And did splendidly at it, General Solo." Darvin Linalv clapped mockingly as he strode to where they sat. "You gave yourself away with the fast-draw, dear man." Mercenaries and other gunmen swarmed aboard the small ship. "And you must be the ever so-famous Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker. Your disguises were clever enough, and there are many humanoids who look like you. You fooled Sul Harvangul. You fooled my checkpoints. But you can't fool another Force-user, Jedi. You forgot to damp your aura."
Now that Darvin let it burst forth, Luke could tell he was indeed force-sensitive, but untrained. He cursed himself for six kinds of fool. He couldn't protect both of them from all the blaster bolts. The odds were bad that one of them would get shot if they fought. Han was calculating how many of the men with blast-rifles he could take out if he decided to shoot it out.
[I’m still not sure I like this. But if Linalv damped his aura, Luke wouldn’t see it unless he was actively looking for it.]
"Put your weapons on the deck, gentlemen and step away from them. I should execute you now, but I want to know why. Is it because of the bomb that wounded Organa?"
"No, we just hate having our lunch plans interrupted," Han said dryly, taking two steps back from his precious blaster.
[I love it when Han mouths off to the bad guys.]
"We do not deal in terror, Linalv. We are opposed to it, and will seek out and destroy anyone, independent or organized who attempts to--"
Linalv's mocking laughter cut Luke off. "This, from the greatest terrorist in the galaxy? This from a man who single-handedly slaughtered millions with one shot? Oh, you idealist, just because you won the war doesn't make you any more noble than those who do the same in another cause."
[There are two sides to every story. This emphasizes that the entire galaxy doesn’t necessarily think Luke is on the side of the angels.]
Explosions from outside drew their attention. Republic Security bombers were leveling the compound, as fighters covered them on strafing runs. Thinking rapidly, Linalv opened a com-channel.
"Attention Republic fleet. This is Darvin Linalv. I am holding General Solo and Jedi Skywalker hostage aboard the Sunfighter Franchise. Call off the attack or I will shoot Solo."
"Acknowledge Darvin Linalv. Breaking off attack." Wedge's voice was calm and level. The ships maintained a low altitude formation.
"You," he pointed at the two thugs nearest the hatch, "Go see what's left."
Han glanced at Luke. So much for a rescue. He seemed to hear Luke inside his head //When you get a chance, take it.//
"Boss, we're flat. Nothing left. They hit the munitions first." The first report straggled back aboard. Amid the looks of shock, Luke seized the bare split-second.
His lightsaber was in his hand and he was cutting through his opponents like a Tatooine whirlwind, faster than human eye could follow. About the same time, Han realized his blaster was hovering an inch from his own hand. He dropped two thugs without thinking and took aim at the third.
Luke came face to face with Darvin Linalv. "You are mine."
"I thought Jedi didn't seek revenge." Linalv hurled a small ball of Force at him. Luke deflected it.
"We don't." He sent Linalv's force-lightening back on the man, making him writhe under it. "But you have tried to kill my sister. And my lover. And me." With each accusation, the lightening grew stronger. "For that, you will pay through proper channels." A small gesture dispersed the lightening and sent Linalv to his knees, choking and gasping for air.
"Kid, don't." The enforcers were all down, and Han came to stand at Luke's side, staring at the choking man.
"I won't kill him. He'll be easier to transport unconscious." The calm, reasonable quality of Luke's voice, as if this was the most logical action in the universe, unnerved Han.
[Luke is still in complete control here. There is no rage in him, just pure cold anger. He has built himself up so hard against Linalv, he cannot see the man he is harming, only a murderer who tried to kill him, his lover and his sister.]
"Then make it quick. That's torture. I know." The last was spoken softly for Luke's ears only, and dragged up foul memories of Bespin.
Linalv toppled to the deck. "I'm sorry," Luke said, catching the tenor of his lover's thoughts.
"You could have just dropped him unconscious like Sul Harvangul. What were you thinking?"
"Let's turn him in and go home, my love." The endearment only made it worse, and Han pulled away when Luke touched him. They delivered the arms merchant into the hands of the security force and tossed the dead men off the ship. The security detail could mop up, they had done their share.
The sleek yacht made good time back to the Republic Governing Offices on Corellia. The trip was long, and silent. Han was upset by what he had seen in Luke's face as Linalv went down. Luke was bothered by his own pleasure in the man's agony, and by Han's reaction.
At last, an hour out of Corellia, Luke broke the silence. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was angry and it seemed like the reasonable thing to do. But I know what you're thinking and I am not my father."
"For a minute there, you looked like you wanted to be."
"Han, that's not fair."
"Isn't it? What's this then?" Han caught his hand and turned the signet so it caught the light. "Why a flamehawk, a legend that dies and renews itself in fire?"
[The choice was not deliberate in the first paragraphs. I wanted something impressive, like an eagle or a hawk, like men prefer on tattoos. The flamehawk, which I have used before in stories, seemed appropriate. As I hit the end, the reason became clear. And this is a comment on a piece of mine where I had Luke say,“Like the flamehawk of Sarda Vader rose from the burned, dying body of my father.”]
"I am not Vader reborn."
"You were gloating over Linalv. You wanted him to suffer."
"Yes, I did. I'm human. I wear my heart outside my body in two places, you and Leia, and he wounded it in both. I wanted him to die in as much pain as I could muster for him. But I did not kill him. I wanted to, but I did not. That is not my prerogative. He is alive and in proper custody."
There was something to this. Han had heard what Luke was capable of; although he hadn't actually seen the whole confrontation at Jabba's, the others had filled him in. But before, the arrogant Jedi act had always seemed just that: an act. He sat and thought for a while.
"Angry I can understand," he conceded, remembering a few of his own rasher actions, and some done in cold blood. "Just promise me you'll think before you ride the rage too far?"
Seeing how much it meant to Han, Luke nodded. "I will. We'll discuss this more when you're done in the medcenter. You're going in as soon as we land and coming out your old self."
"I can only hope." He finally gave in to the urge to scratch at the eyeplate, and crack the durasteel knuckles of his left hand. This uneasy peace was all he'd get out of Luke for now.
[This is still fairly early in the relationship, a couple-three years in. I suspect neither has completely come to terms with Luke’s lineage or abilities.]
They landed and took the waiting transport to the medcenter where Han was expected. The meddroids whisked him through in-processing, all records and expenses cleared by the highest levels of government.
They stopped Luke at the doorway of surgery. He halted the floaterstretch. "Han, I love you." He leaned over and kissed his lover, stroking the eyeplate for the last time.
Han looked up into the clear blue eyes, and saw only Luke. None of the anger that he'd seen earlier remained, only the same burning desire for justice that he'd always seen on that face. He decided that maybe justice sometimes required anger of those who served her. "Hey, kid," he said brushing Luke's chin as the floaterstretch began moving again, "Shave for me."
The one-sided smile lingered in Luke's mind as the operating room doors closed. Han was his anchor against the darkness, something his father had never had. He went down to the vending area to find a razor and a 'fresher.
[The ending implies Luke is willing to give up maturity, and return to being “the kid” a more innocent time and one where he is in less danger of the darkness. And Han will anchor him against it, so that he will not fall.]
