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Hunter in the Shadows, part 3 of 3
***
Three days later, Han sat shivering in the middle of the ornate bed that dominated Luke's
lair. He bundled the cover, real antique velvet instead of velvlon, around him and made his fifth
sluggish trip to the sink in twenty minutes. The water in the ancient plumbing tasted of old metal and chemicals, but he didn't care. He was so thirsty, and hunger nauseated him. Han checked his vest pocket. He usually carried a small stash of concentrates, a habit from his smuggling days. But they were long gone and he was ravenous. That was the answer to his dilemma. Han had no desire to go out after yesterday's debacle.
A motion from the other room caught his eye as he stood at the sink. Sinian. The youth's presence reminded him he needed to refine his escape plan more.
Yesterday, he had slipped out alone, scouting exits. He'd noticed some tunnels during his daily Hunts with Luke, paying as much attention as he could to the layout while the pack stalked rodents that grew to half man-size, and any sentient who was luckless enough to wander down. It had been hard work, the smell of the blood tantalizing in his nose, making him hungrier than ever.
Lagging behind was easy. His increasing lethargy made it harder to keep up with the pack, and he
used the excuse. He couldn't tell his lover that he was looking for a way to escape.
But on this reconnaissance mission, three of the adolescents, two males and a female had
caught him, and pinned him against the wall. Sinian, their leader, had informed him, in halting
standard interspersed with half-understood drouger, that he was going to be eaten, slowly, and all
Luke would find was a pile of gnawed, clean-licked bones. Han struggled, but the other two
drouger held him firmly. His strength sapped by the change, he couldn't break free.
He'd lanced at Han's cheek with the tongue-probe, drawing a line of blood. The female
licked it away. A scratch on the other cheek and the male licked it away. Sinian licked along the
marks Luke had put on his chest earlier, opening them to bleed freely, and he drank with evident
pleasure. He pressed himself against Han, soaking up the warmth of the human's body, sniffing
him deeply.
Han tried to bring his knee up and catch the thing in the crotch. Dirty fighting was all he
had. Sinian dodged, and flipped him to the ground, tearing his shirt off. He lowered his mouth to
Han's shoulder and bit.
When he went flying, he took a piece of Han's skin the size of a credit with him. Luke
snarled at the two others, and stood over Han protectively. Sinian shook his head and spoke
urgently and rapidly. Luke assessed he damage done to Han and gave orders to Sinian's trembling
friends. Han watched as they bound him and shoved him into Luke's chambers, willing to
sacrifice him to save themselves.
"Your first meal as one of the People, my love," Luke had said, helping Han to his feet and
leading him back to the bedroom. "I don't want you to leave again until you've eaten him."
Now Han staggered to the door of the bedchamber and looked in at the miserable youth in the
corner, tied, and obviously hungry. They were both captives of the disease. The hunger grew, and
the thirst rasped in his mouth. He knew Sinian's blood would slake it, but also that he wasn't far
enough through the change to tolerate the blood. He'd tried with a rodent last night, and it hadn't helped. But the smell of blood drew him two steps toward the bound boy.
Han shook himself and turned away. He returned to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly
between them. Fear and repulsion shook him, and he sank to the bed, nauseated and weak. He
could feel a lump on the bottom of his tongue, where the needle-probe was growing, and it made
him want to gag. He had to get out before he lost all desire to be cured.
He lay down, the chill, hunger and exhaustion sapping him of all desire save warmth and
food. The only place he found those anymore was in dreams. The bed held nothing except
memory, no warmth and no sleep. He let the memory ravish him, distract him from the present.
The time with Leia had left Han with a yearning for permanence directly at odds with his
fierce independence. He'd fought it every step of the way with her, knowing that grounding was
death. He had to fly. His initial idea that Luke would not require his freedom was now being
challenged by the very real possibility that, if he couldn't get them to a cure, he might not only be grounded, but live his life like a burrow-rachi and never see the stars again. Worse, once the virus had finished with him, he wouldn't even care. He'd be what Luke was becoming.
There was so little of Luke left in the creature that shared his bed. Only a predator, hungry
and desirous. One that lived for nothing but the Hunt, sex and the Force. Luke was the only one
of the People who was Force sensitive. His Jedi abilities had given him the status of their leader, and from what little Han saw when Luke took him hunting, they were almost in awe of him.
The first night and day they had spent in the enormous bed, the silk sheets soft and cool. It
was everything Han had wanted, more than he would ever have asked of Luke. He'd thought his
friend an innocent, or at least very naive, but somewhere Luke had picked up an amazing
repertoire of technique and position. Freed of the necessity of his aloof Jedi demeanor, he
indulged it.
Excited by the new discoveries, and aroused beyond rational thought at the constant
contact after so long a dry spell, Han had fought off the lethargy he could feel beginning then and taught Luke a few techniques of his own.
Sleep came at last, stealing into his memory-haunted thoughts so subtly he barely noticed
the difference.
Luke lies atop him, like a statue carved out of Denekian mavra, pale as pale with faint blue running through it, and just as cold to touch. His skin, which Han remembers as unevenly tanned, and slightly marked, is flawless. He lifts his hands, the nails of the left grown long and sharp, and right still human in appearance, because it is not flesh like the rest, and runs them the length of Han's body. His mouth follows, cold and slick.
He kisses Han's eyes shut, then lingers on his mouth, as if seeking to draw the last of the
warmth from Han's body. Han kisses back, still wanting Luke, still craving these kisses, the ones
that hold the tiredness at bay, the ones that send every hair on his body crawling with desire.
The kisses reach his throat, and Han squirms under them, thrusting up against the solid
immobility of Luke. Then that cool tongue, which never absorbs his body heat, is sliding across
his nipples, licking them to hardness, sending sparks along the nerve-ends to make him shudder.
And down even lower, to flick into his navel and stroke across the head of his cock, which is
more than ready for this kiss.
Here again, Luke is too skilled for his apparent innocence, seeming to know what will make
Han hottest before Han does. "I can read your skin," he has said, when asked. He licks and
strokes the shaft, letting his teeth glide over the skin as a solid presence, but not a sharp one. Han basks under the attention. He did much the same earlier, and now, he enjoys the payback.
The slow languid strokes of Luke's tongue match his own lethargy, and he drifts, afloat on
sensation, his mind empty of everything except the building explosion in his loins. It hits like a
leap to hyperspace, like plunging into a cold spot in the ocean, taking his breath away, sending
him out of himself for a brief moment. A second explosion wells from somewhere deeper inside
him, and ravages him like a stunbolt.
He returns to pain. A sharp sting on the bottom of his cock, as if he's been poked with a
needle. Luke looking up at him, a smile on his face, unaware of the lone droplet of blood tracing
its way down the corner of his mouth.
Han jerked awake to find Luke leaning against a bedpost, absently tracing his fingers over
the carved wood. He looked Han over and stretched out on the bed, pulling Han to him.
"Luke, I can't."
"Shh, you're shaking. I know it's not easy. Things will be better soon, once the virus runs
its course." He held his mate even closer, steadying him. He'd spent as much time as he could
holding Han against the hunger, just as Han had done for him.
"I'm starving. I've got to have food. You can live on Force and blood, but I can't."
"Yet," Luke corrected with a light kiss on Han's forehead. "Real food will only prolong
the illness."
"I gotta eat. I'm dying."
In the way that Han found both disturbing and erotic, Luke sniffed him, a slow taking in of his scent. Distress clouded his face. "I'm so sorry. You are. Come on. Let's go up some levels and get you some food. You'll be sick a little longer, but you'll survive."
Han dressed carefully, putting on the old fashioned realeather trousers Luke had found for
him, a soft shirt made of grey silk, and his vest, boots and gunbelt. He checked the setting and
power of his blaster and left the safety off. It wasn't much of a plan and, if he blew it, Luke would probably rip his throat out. If it succeeded, though, he wouldn't have to drag Luke out of the lair past the entire pack.
"So handsome." Luke had glided over, so silently Han never even heard his breathing. His
hands were cool, and Han leaned into them, finding they quieted the hunger like nothing else.
Luke had shed the tattered plaid koth remnants of his sleep pants for a soft grey shirt to match
Han's own, and matching grey pants. He was living smoke, and moved like a half-seen shadow.
The drougers ignored the men as they left. Han took one last look at these beings, some of
whom were born to the People, some of whom, like Luke, had been infected. He stared at the
paleness, the large eyes, seeing his own future.
He memorized the tunnels as Luke led him out. He'd have someone send a squad or three
down here to quarantine these things. The last thing the New Republic needed was a vampiric
colony running loose under its capitol's feet. Maybe the antiviral could bring some of them back.
The wait for the lift was long, and Han indulged himself. The raging hunger quieted only
at Luke's touch. Luke was more than willing to hold and kiss him, and he took full advantage of
it. Stars knew when they'd get another chance. He'd come to love the feel of the cool lips under
his own, and today the faint lingering metallic taste from Luke's hunt thrilled him. Soon, so very
soon now, they could hunt together for real instead of the practice runs Luke had been taking him
on.
Han shook the thought from himself. It was definitely time to get out, before sleeping and
sex became a way of life, or almost-life. These thoughts were pushed aside by Luke's tongue, cold
and invasive, arousing him immediately and silencing the ravening pain.
They sidled into the lift, not wanting to break apart, but Han withdrew long enough to say
"Ninety-eighth level." The doors shut and the lift began a slow ascent.
They kissed for the first ninety levels, slow and deep. Han's hunger faded, and Luke's kiss
stilled the desperate thirst. The lift pinged. They separated reluctantly, but stood in each others arms until the doors slid open. A faint noise drew Luke's attention, and he left Han's side for an instant.
An instant was all Han needed. Reflexes let him draw and fire, taking Luke in the back
with the blue stun rings before he could think rationally about what he was doing. Luke crumpled
in the doorway of the lift, and Han dragged him back inside. Without Luke, the lethargy and
hunger were consuming him again. "Three-hundred-seventy-two. Speed: fast," he gasped at the
lift and sat down hard beside Luke.
His comlink had been left behind, but there was an emergency link in the lift. He activated it. It immediately broadcast the voice of the Planetary Emergency Dispatch Coordinator, demanding
to know what the problem was with that lift. "Solo to medcenter. Two in lift. Need medical
attention. Send help."
The last thing he remembered was the lift opening to robostretchers and the sight of Luke
being lifted onto one. The hiss of the doser against his neck sent him straight into blackness where no dreams haunted him.
Han awoke in the medcenter, flat on his back, tubes in every orifice. He was warm and he
was wasn't hungry. His throat was dry, but it felt like a single glass of water would cure that. His shoulder ached, but it wasn't the bitter pain of the fresh wound. The bed alerted the meddroid, and it came over to scan him. After determining his proper state, it began unhooking tubes and wires.
"How are you feeling, General?"
Han swallowed against his dry throat. "Better. Where's Luke?"
"To your right."
Luke lay in the bed next to him, still unconscious and wired. Han looked at the readings.
Stable, but not good.
"He had considerably longer exposure to the virus than you did. His recovery will take
approximately six point two standard weeks longer."
"How long was I out?"
"One standard week, two standard days, six hours--"
"All right, I get the picture."
"The virus is completely cleared from your cells. You may require more rest than is
normal for a few weeks. Allow yourself to take that, and to eat well. These will do much to speed
your progress."
"When can I get up?"
"Tomorrow morning, General, after breakfast. Now, it is your sleepcycle." Without
consulting him, the droid added a sedative to his remaining intravenous line. Han hated the feeling of instant well-being and sleepiness. He turned to look at Luke, one more time.
The morning sun of Coruscant didn't stream like Corellia's primary. It tiptoed through the
atmosphere, barely making its presence known amid the lights of the city-planet. It slid into the
medcenter and lay across the face of the unconscious Jedi, soft as a sleepy kitkin. It caught one
metal fixture and winked off it straight into Han's eyes.
He twitched awake, and the meddroid hummed to life as well.
"Excellent progress, General. Breakfast will be served soon, then we can see about getting
you on your feet." Breakfast was no more palatable than his lunch with Luke had been...when?
Was it only six weeks ago? Han ate anyway. For all that it tasted like wiring insulation, it was
probably full of nutrients the docbot thought he needed.
Before the droid could move, he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of his bed,
grasped the rail and stood up. The movement left his head swimming. His bare feet felt strange on
the floor, and he wasn't sure his legs would hold him.
"General, please. Allow me to remove your line before you move any farther." The
mechanical pulled the tube and capped the shunt that held his vein open.
Han made three faltering steps between the beds and leaned on the rail of Luke's. "Well,
kid, we're safe. For now. Don't go pulling a stunt like that one again. You had me plenty scared
down there, I can tell you." He looked for a little longer, drinking in the color that had returned to Luke's face, and then made his way back to bed. A nap seemed in order. The docbot assisted him by dosing him with a sedative.
Chewbacca was there when he awoke next. *I am glad you came back to me, Little One,
and the youngster too. Do not face the drougers again.*
"Hadn't planned to, Chewie. I was going to have Madine or somebody send down troops
with plenty of anti-virus and clean the colony out." He wasn't sure how well it would work, but it
was worth a try if the medcenter could synthesize enough antiviral in a gas form.
They talked for a while, until Chewie could see his life-oath-friend was in need of more
sleep. *You heal, Little One. The Trees say the youngster will awaken soon and he will need you
then.*
"When's soon?" Han asked, sleep already fogging the edges of his voice.
*All times are soon to a Tree.*
Han spent a couple of days just resting and eating. He talked to Luke a lot, even knowing his
friend couldn't hear him. He'd heard of people in coma who'd been brought back by people
talking to them. When he tired of hashing over the recent adventure, he turned to tales of his past. When those ran out, he told stories his grandfather had told him as a child.
Leia came for a single visit, and was able to steal half an hour from her schedule and the
demands of the Republic. She made sure all was in order with their treatments and listened to
Han's tale of what had happened. He didn't spare her feelings or his own, but did tell the story
without graphic detail. She left, after touching Luke's hand and saying "Take care of him. I
wouldn't let you, but he will."
Han was released before Luke regained consciousness. He spent his time at the medcenter,
arriving as soon as the droids would let him, leaving only when Chewie hauled him back to the
Falcon, or the droids threw him out. He occupied some of the idle hours in Luke's apartment,
airing it out and preparing it for Luke's return. Chewie tried to interest him in repairs on the
Falcon, but he was as half-hearted about these as he was everything outside the medcenter.
He came in one morning and Luke was awake, sitting up and sipping a cup of kaf.
"Damn droids. I told them to call me when you woke up." Han got a cup of kaf for
himself and sat down near the bed.
"They did. You'd already left. I've only been awake half an hour." Luke's voice was calm
as if they had both survived just another scrape instead of nearly losing themselves. "Catch me
up." The studied casualness of his tone bothered Han. This was not his passionate lover, but
rather a distant friend, seldom seen or heard from.
"Madine took a detachment down and hit the drouger colony with an anti-viral gas. Most
of them made it. Some of the older pure-bloods couldn't take it and they died. The survivors are
being treated and will be rehabilitated and re-educated to fit in when they awaken."
"Do I need re-education too?" The question was soft and bitter.
Han wanted nothing more than to wrap Luke in his arms and reassure him. But truth won
out. "That's for the psy-droids to decide. You went deep, but not for very long. Some of those
people have been drougers for decades."
"Are you all right?" Luke couldn't look at him as he asked. He stared at the dregs of his
kaf.
"More than all right." Han leaned in close. "Now that you're awake." He brushed a kiss
over Luke's cheek, and looked hurt when Luke pushed him away.
"No. That belongs to the illness. Let that part go with the others." Luke shut down. It was
as if someone had flipped a switch and all his expressions and motions turned off like a droid's.
"Luke--"
"Please go. You have a life to live outside the medcenter. Chewie told me you'd practically
moved in. Go."
Not wanting to argue on Luke's first morning up, Han left. He'd come back in a couple
days, make sure the kid was doing all right. The kid. He snorted at the thought. Luke had been a
lot of things in the past weeks, but he hadn't thought of him that way since the nightmare had
started.
Luke lay in the medcenter, staring at the walls, unwilling to touch the Force. It had
accepted and encouraged him when he was devouring innocents and stealing Han's very life-force,
how could he trust it any longer?
He slept much in the first days, eating and drinking, savoring the taste of food and water,
the feelings of satiation after so much emptiness. He watched the holo constantly, trying not to
think, trying to hide from the memories that plagued him. It was no good. He remembered
anyway: the taste of Han's blood in his mouth, hot and sweet; the fear he'd felt as the pack had
investigated Han, fear that had mingled with hunger and desire; the constant terror that Han had
smelled of when he in the lair. It was all his fault, and he couldn't escape the shame-filled memory or the responsibility. His room remained empty except for the med-droids.
One grey afternoon, when the weather grid had been programmed for rain, Luke decided
to brave the Force once more. He slid into it, feeling the flow of life around him. Life, death,
predator, prey, they were all a part of it. One thing he had learned beyond the Jedi training was
that the Force was neutral, without a dark side or a light side.
"Do you think so, young Skywalker?" hissed the nasty voice in his ear. "Only now, tainted
as you are with the Dark, could I come to you."
"Your highness," Luke acknowledged gravely. Palpatine shimmered, pleased at the honor.
"The darkness is your own."
"I told you before your faith in your friends was your weakness. They cannot help you
here. Indeed, why would they?"
"They cannot come here, true. But they will always help when they can."
"Will they? After you stole your sister's lover, and used him so selfishly before tossing him aside? Boy, you are alone now." Palpatine's clutch on his arm was hard and icy.
"You are the voice of my own fears." Luke's voice was calm and steady. "Palpatine is dead
these five years. My friends live. I live. Go away!"
The meddroid was fussing over the readings when Luke came up from meditation. "Jedi
Skywalker, please be more prudent in your meditations. Your vital signs fluctuated most
alarmingly."
"I will, SD-76." Luke settled back and thought. The rain pattered on the windowpane, and
he watched the droplets roll down the transparisteel. He owed many apologies, and suspected the
person who needed the most probably wouldn't listen to him right now.
He breathed deeply for a moment and then opened a comm channel. The worst Han could
do was tell him to go away, which was exactly what Luke had done to him. The familiar shape of
the Falcon's lounge appeared, and Luke found himself standing among a variety of shoulder-
height transparent monsters. It took him a second to remember the Falcon's secondary receiver
was located on the holoboard
"Could you come?" he asked Han who was tinkering at the tech station. "I need to talk to
you."
"Sure," Han's voice was steady, and he acted as if holograms of Luke on his gameboard were
everyday occurrences. "Want me to bring Chewie?" The Wookiee was grumbling about the
interruptions and Han's inability to sit still for ten minutes and play.
"No, just you. I owe you several apologies. But a comm is too impersonal."
"Be there in about half an hour, kid," Han said, and switched off. He tugged on his boots,
washed the grease off his hands and checked the rest of his appearance. A quick sniff of his shirt
told him he'd better change. The only thing clean was the grey silk he'd worn the day they'd
come out of the lair. No help for it, so he slipped into the shirt, the whispery slickness far too sensual against his skin, calling up memories of Luke's mouth. He left the Falcon for the
medcenter.
There's a look to waiting, Luke knew, a sort of tension that goes out of a person when the
awaited arrives. His tension didn't dissipate, but seemed to turn into both fear and shame. When
Han sat down in the chair, but didn't draw it in close by the bed, part of him sank.
"Han, I am sorry." There was no prelude, no chance for misunderstandings. "I dragged
you into this mess. I'm sorry I tore you and Leia apart. I'm sorry I used you so selfishly, for my
own pleasure without a thought for your wishes. For infecting you, for all the harm I've done, I'm
sorry. How can I make amends?"
"Amends?" The word was out of Han's mouth before he could bite it down. "Luke, you
don't have anything to be amending. I went in to rescue you knowing we could both die. And
getting you in my bed for days was a nice bonus instead. No hard feelings on my part, and here
you're eating yourself up with guilt."
Han stood up and bent over the bed. He brushed Luke's mouth with his own. "Stop it," he
whispered. "Stop it right now." He claimed a full kiss, long and warm and sweet, the way they
should all have been. Luke's mouth was soft under his and opened with almost no coaxing.
Han felt a warm, strong arm go around his neck and pull him in closer, then there was no
time to think at all, just the kiss, and Luke kissing him back, breathing for each other, the sensual dance of tongues between teeth and the need for touch.
Han pulled back reluctantly, a series of small kisses telling Luke he didn't really want to
stop.
"I thought you'd hate me," Luke said.
"Never. And when you get out, I'll show you exactly how much I don't hate you," Han
grinned, then paused. "If you want me to, that is."
For the first time in weeks, Luke smiled for real. "I'd like that, a lot."
"Blood is thicker than water
But love,
Love is thicker than blood." --Jenny Yates & Garth Brooks
Three days later, Han sat shivering in the middle of the ornate bed that dominated Luke's
lair. He bundled the cover, real antique velvet instead of velvlon, around him and made his fifth
sluggish trip to the sink in twenty minutes. The water in the ancient plumbing tasted of old metal and chemicals, but he didn't care. He was so thirsty, and hunger nauseated him. Han checked his vest pocket. He usually carried a small stash of concentrates, a habit from his smuggling days. But they were long gone and he was ravenous. That was the answer to his dilemma. Han had no desire to go out after yesterday's debacle.
A motion from the other room caught his eye as he stood at the sink. Sinian. The youth's presence reminded him he needed to refine his escape plan more.
Yesterday, he had slipped out alone, scouting exits. He'd noticed some tunnels during his daily Hunts with Luke, paying as much attention as he could to the layout while the pack stalked rodents that grew to half man-size, and any sentient who was luckless enough to wander down. It had been hard work, the smell of the blood tantalizing in his nose, making him hungrier than ever.
Lagging behind was easy. His increasing lethargy made it harder to keep up with the pack, and he
used the excuse. He couldn't tell his lover that he was looking for a way to escape.
But on this reconnaissance mission, three of the adolescents, two males and a female had
caught him, and pinned him against the wall. Sinian, their leader, had informed him, in halting
standard interspersed with half-understood drouger, that he was going to be eaten, slowly, and all
Luke would find was a pile of gnawed, clean-licked bones. Han struggled, but the other two
drouger held him firmly. His strength sapped by the change, he couldn't break free.
He'd lanced at Han's cheek with the tongue-probe, drawing a line of blood. The female
licked it away. A scratch on the other cheek and the male licked it away. Sinian licked along the
marks Luke had put on his chest earlier, opening them to bleed freely, and he drank with evident
pleasure. He pressed himself against Han, soaking up the warmth of the human's body, sniffing
him deeply.
Han tried to bring his knee up and catch the thing in the crotch. Dirty fighting was all he
had. Sinian dodged, and flipped him to the ground, tearing his shirt off. He lowered his mouth to
Han's shoulder and bit.
When he went flying, he took a piece of Han's skin the size of a credit with him. Luke
snarled at the two others, and stood over Han protectively. Sinian shook his head and spoke
urgently and rapidly. Luke assessed he damage done to Han and gave orders to Sinian's trembling
friends. Han watched as they bound him and shoved him into Luke's chambers, willing to
sacrifice him to save themselves.
"Your first meal as one of the People, my love," Luke had said, helping Han to his feet and
leading him back to the bedroom. "I don't want you to leave again until you've eaten him."
Now Han staggered to the door of the bedchamber and looked in at the miserable youth in the
corner, tied, and obviously hungry. They were both captives of the disease. The hunger grew, and
the thirst rasped in his mouth. He knew Sinian's blood would slake it, but also that he wasn't far
enough through the change to tolerate the blood. He'd tried with a rodent last night, and it hadn't helped. But the smell of blood drew him two steps toward the bound boy.
Han shook himself and turned away. He returned to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly
between them. Fear and repulsion shook him, and he sank to the bed, nauseated and weak. He
could feel a lump on the bottom of his tongue, where the needle-probe was growing, and it made
him want to gag. He had to get out before he lost all desire to be cured.
He lay down, the chill, hunger and exhaustion sapping him of all desire save warmth and
food. The only place he found those anymore was in dreams. The bed held nothing except
memory, no warmth and no sleep. He let the memory ravish him, distract him from the present.
The time with Leia had left Han with a yearning for permanence directly at odds with his
fierce independence. He'd fought it every step of the way with her, knowing that grounding was
death. He had to fly. His initial idea that Luke would not require his freedom was now being
challenged by the very real possibility that, if he couldn't get them to a cure, he might not only be grounded, but live his life like a burrow-rachi and never see the stars again. Worse, once the virus had finished with him, he wouldn't even care. He'd be what Luke was becoming.
There was so little of Luke left in the creature that shared his bed. Only a predator, hungry
and desirous. One that lived for nothing but the Hunt, sex and the Force. Luke was the only one
of the People who was Force sensitive. His Jedi abilities had given him the status of their leader, and from what little Han saw when Luke took him hunting, they were almost in awe of him.
The first night and day they had spent in the enormous bed, the silk sheets soft and cool. It
was everything Han had wanted, more than he would ever have asked of Luke. He'd thought his
friend an innocent, or at least very naive, but somewhere Luke had picked up an amazing
repertoire of technique and position. Freed of the necessity of his aloof Jedi demeanor, he
indulged it.
Excited by the new discoveries, and aroused beyond rational thought at the constant
contact after so long a dry spell, Han had fought off the lethargy he could feel beginning then and taught Luke a few techniques of his own.
Sleep came at last, stealing into his memory-haunted thoughts so subtly he barely noticed
the difference.
Luke lies atop him, like a statue carved out of Denekian mavra, pale as pale with faint blue running through it, and just as cold to touch. His skin, which Han remembers as unevenly tanned, and slightly marked, is flawless. He lifts his hands, the nails of the left grown long and sharp, and right still human in appearance, because it is not flesh like the rest, and runs them the length of Han's body. His mouth follows, cold and slick.
He kisses Han's eyes shut, then lingers on his mouth, as if seeking to draw the last of the
warmth from Han's body. Han kisses back, still wanting Luke, still craving these kisses, the ones
that hold the tiredness at bay, the ones that send every hair on his body crawling with desire.
The kisses reach his throat, and Han squirms under them, thrusting up against the solid
immobility of Luke. Then that cool tongue, which never absorbs his body heat, is sliding across
his nipples, licking them to hardness, sending sparks along the nerve-ends to make him shudder.
And down even lower, to flick into his navel and stroke across the head of his cock, which is
more than ready for this kiss.
Here again, Luke is too skilled for his apparent innocence, seeming to know what will make
Han hottest before Han does. "I can read your skin," he has said, when asked. He licks and
strokes the shaft, letting his teeth glide over the skin as a solid presence, but not a sharp one. Han basks under the attention. He did much the same earlier, and now, he enjoys the payback.
The slow languid strokes of Luke's tongue match his own lethargy, and he drifts, afloat on
sensation, his mind empty of everything except the building explosion in his loins. It hits like a
leap to hyperspace, like plunging into a cold spot in the ocean, taking his breath away, sending
him out of himself for a brief moment. A second explosion wells from somewhere deeper inside
him, and ravages him like a stunbolt.
He returns to pain. A sharp sting on the bottom of his cock, as if he's been poked with a
needle. Luke looking up at him, a smile on his face, unaware of the lone droplet of blood tracing
its way down the corner of his mouth.
Han jerked awake to find Luke leaning against a bedpost, absently tracing his fingers over
the carved wood. He looked Han over and stretched out on the bed, pulling Han to him.
"Luke, I can't."
"Shh, you're shaking. I know it's not easy. Things will be better soon, once the virus runs
its course." He held his mate even closer, steadying him. He'd spent as much time as he could
holding Han against the hunger, just as Han had done for him.
"I'm starving. I've got to have food. You can live on Force and blood, but I can't."
"Yet," Luke corrected with a light kiss on Han's forehead. "Real food will only prolong
the illness."
"I gotta eat. I'm dying."
In the way that Han found both disturbing and erotic, Luke sniffed him, a slow taking in of his scent. Distress clouded his face. "I'm so sorry. You are. Come on. Let's go up some levels and get you some food. You'll be sick a little longer, but you'll survive."
Han dressed carefully, putting on the old fashioned realeather trousers Luke had found for
him, a soft shirt made of grey silk, and his vest, boots and gunbelt. He checked the setting and
power of his blaster and left the safety off. It wasn't much of a plan and, if he blew it, Luke would probably rip his throat out. If it succeeded, though, he wouldn't have to drag Luke out of the lair past the entire pack.
"So handsome." Luke had glided over, so silently Han never even heard his breathing. His
hands were cool, and Han leaned into them, finding they quieted the hunger like nothing else.
Luke had shed the tattered plaid koth remnants of his sleep pants for a soft grey shirt to match
Han's own, and matching grey pants. He was living smoke, and moved like a half-seen shadow.
The drougers ignored the men as they left. Han took one last look at these beings, some of
whom were born to the People, some of whom, like Luke, had been infected. He stared at the
paleness, the large eyes, seeing his own future.
He memorized the tunnels as Luke led him out. He'd have someone send a squad or three
down here to quarantine these things. The last thing the New Republic needed was a vampiric
colony running loose under its capitol's feet. Maybe the antiviral could bring some of them back.
The wait for the lift was long, and Han indulged himself. The raging hunger quieted only
at Luke's touch. Luke was more than willing to hold and kiss him, and he took full advantage of
it. Stars knew when they'd get another chance. He'd come to love the feel of the cool lips under
his own, and today the faint lingering metallic taste from Luke's hunt thrilled him. Soon, so very
soon now, they could hunt together for real instead of the practice runs Luke had been taking him
on.
Han shook the thought from himself. It was definitely time to get out, before sleeping and
sex became a way of life, or almost-life. These thoughts were pushed aside by Luke's tongue, cold
and invasive, arousing him immediately and silencing the ravening pain.
They sidled into the lift, not wanting to break apart, but Han withdrew long enough to say
"Ninety-eighth level." The doors shut and the lift began a slow ascent.
They kissed for the first ninety levels, slow and deep. Han's hunger faded, and Luke's kiss
stilled the desperate thirst. The lift pinged. They separated reluctantly, but stood in each others arms until the doors slid open. A faint noise drew Luke's attention, and he left Han's side for an instant.
An instant was all Han needed. Reflexes let him draw and fire, taking Luke in the back
with the blue stun rings before he could think rationally about what he was doing. Luke crumpled
in the doorway of the lift, and Han dragged him back inside. Without Luke, the lethargy and
hunger were consuming him again. "Three-hundred-seventy-two. Speed: fast," he gasped at the
lift and sat down hard beside Luke.
His comlink had been left behind, but there was an emergency link in the lift. He activated it. It immediately broadcast the voice of the Planetary Emergency Dispatch Coordinator, demanding
to know what the problem was with that lift. "Solo to medcenter. Two in lift. Need medical
attention. Send help."
The last thing he remembered was the lift opening to robostretchers and the sight of Luke
being lifted onto one. The hiss of the doser against his neck sent him straight into blackness where no dreams haunted him.
Han awoke in the medcenter, flat on his back, tubes in every orifice. He was warm and he
was wasn't hungry. His throat was dry, but it felt like a single glass of water would cure that. His shoulder ached, but it wasn't the bitter pain of the fresh wound. The bed alerted the meddroid, and it came over to scan him. After determining his proper state, it began unhooking tubes and wires.
"How are you feeling, General?"
Han swallowed against his dry throat. "Better. Where's Luke?"
"To your right."
Luke lay in the bed next to him, still unconscious and wired. Han looked at the readings.
Stable, but not good.
"He had considerably longer exposure to the virus than you did. His recovery will take
approximately six point two standard weeks longer."
"How long was I out?"
"One standard week, two standard days, six hours--"
"All right, I get the picture."
"The virus is completely cleared from your cells. You may require more rest than is
normal for a few weeks. Allow yourself to take that, and to eat well. These will do much to speed
your progress."
"When can I get up?"
"Tomorrow morning, General, after breakfast. Now, it is your sleepcycle." Without
consulting him, the droid added a sedative to his remaining intravenous line. Han hated the feeling of instant well-being and sleepiness. He turned to look at Luke, one more time.
The morning sun of Coruscant didn't stream like Corellia's primary. It tiptoed through the
atmosphere, barely making its presence known amid the lights of the city-planet. It slid into the
medcenter and lay across the face of the unconscious Jedi, soft as a sleepy kitkin. It caught one
metal fixture and winked off it straight into Han's eyes.
He twitched awake, and the meddroid hummed to life as well.
"Excellent progress, General. Breakfast will be served soon, then we can see about getting
you on your feet." Breakfast was no more palatable than his lunch with Luke had been...when?
Was it only six weeks ago? Han ate anyway. For all that it tasted like wiring insulation, it was
probably full of nutrients the docbot thought he needed.
Before the droid could move, he swung his legs around and sat on the edge of his bed,
grasped the rail and stood up. The movement left his head swimming. His bare feet felt strange on
the floor, and he wasn't sure his legs would hold him.
"General, please. Allow me to remove your line before you move any farther." The
mechanical pulled the tube and capped the shunt that held his vein open.
Han made three faltering steps between the beds and leaned on the rail of Luke's. "Well,
kid, we're safe. For now. Don't go pulling a stunt like that one again. You had me plenty scared
down there, I can tell you." He looked for a little longer, drinking in the color that had returned to Luke's face, and then made his way back to bed. A nap seemed in order. The docbot assisted him by dosing him with a sedative.
Chewbacca was there when he awoke next. *I am glad you came back to me, Little One,
and the youngster too. Do not face the drougers again.*
"Hadn't planned to, Chewie. I was going to have Madine or somebody send down troops
with plenty of anti-virus and clean the colony out." He wasn't sure how well it would work, but it
was worth a try if the medcenter could synthesize enough antiviral in a gas form.
They talked for a while, until Chewie could see his life-oath-friend was in need of more
sleep. *You heal, Little One. The Trees say the youngster will awaken soon and he will need you
then.*
"When's soon?" Han asked, sleep already fogging the edges of his voice.
*All times are soon to a Tree.*
Han spent a couple of days just resting and eating. He talked to Luke a lot, even knowing his
friend couldn't hear him. He'd heard of people in coma who'd been brought back by people
talking to them. When he tired of hashing over the recent adventure, he turned to tales of his past. When those ran out, he told stories his grandfather had told him as a child.
Leia came for a single visit, and was able to steal half an hour from her schedule and the
demands of the Republic. She made sure all was in order with their treatments and listened to
Han's tale of what had happened. He didn't spare her feelings or his own, but did tell the story
without graphic detail. She left, after touching Luke's hand and saying "Take care of him. I
wouldn't let you, but he will."
Han was released before Luke regained consciousness. He spent his time at the medcenter,
arriving as soon as the droids would let him, leaving only when Chewie hauled him back to the
Falcon, or the droids threw him out. He occupied some of the idle hours in Luke's apartment,
airing it out and preparing it for Luke's return. Chewie tried to interest him in repairs on the
Falcon, but he was as half-hearted about these as he was everything outside the medcenter.
He came in one morning and Luke was awake, sitting up and sipping a cup of kaf.
"Damn droids. I told them to call me when you woke up." Han got a cup of kaf for
himself and sat down near the bed.
"They did. You'd already left. I've only been awake half an hour." Luke's voice was calm
as if they had both survived just another scrape instead of nearly losing themselves. "Catch me
up." The studied casualness of his tone bothered Han. This was not his passionate lover, but
rather a distant friend, seldom seen or heard from.
"Madine took a detachment down and hit the drouger colony with an anti-viral gas. Most
of them made it. Some of the older pure-bloods couldn't take it and they died. The survivors are
being treated and will be rehabilitated and re-educated to fit in when they awaken."
"Do I need re-education too?" The question was soft and bitter.
Han wanted nothing more than to wrap Luke in his arms and reassure him. But truth won
out. "That's for the psy-droids to decide. You went deep, but not for very long. Some of those
people have been drougers for decades."
"Are you all right?" Luke couldn't look at him as he asked. He stared at the dregs of his
kaf.
"More than all right." Han leaned in close. "Now that you're awake." He brushed a kiss
over Luke's cheek, and looked hurt when Luke pushed him away.
"No. That belongs to the illness. Let that part go with the others." Luke shut down. It was
as if someone had flipped a switch and all his expressions and motions turned off like a droid's.
"Luke--"
"Please go. You have a life to live outside the medcenter. Chewie told me you'd practically
moved in. Go."
Not wanting to argue on Luke's first morning up, Han left. He'd come back in a couple
days, make sure the kid was doing all right. The kid. He snorted at the thought. Luke had been a
lot of things in the past weeks, but he hadn't thought of him that way since the nightmare had
started.
Luke lay in the medcenter, staring at the walls, unwilling to touch the Force. It had
accepted and encouraged him when he was devouring innocents and stealing Han's very life-force,
how could he trust it any longer?
He slept much in the first days, eating and drinking, savoring the taste of food and water,
the feelings of satiation after so much emptiness. He watched the holo constantly, trying not to
think, trying to hide from the memories that plagued him. It was no good. He remembered
anyway: the taste of Han's blood in his mouth, hot and sweet; the fear he'd felt as the pack had
investigated Han, fear that had mingled with hunger and desire; the constant terror that Han had
smelled of when he in the lair. It was all his fault, and he couldn't escape the shame-filled memory or the responsibility. His room remained empty except for the med-droids.
One grey afternoon, when the weather grid had been programmed for rain, Luke decided
to brave the Force once more. He slid into it, feeling the flow of life around him. Life, death,
predator, prey, they were all a part of it. One thing he had learned beyond the Jedi training was
that the Force was neutral, without a dark side or a light side.
"Do you think so, young Skywalker?" hissed the nasty voice in his ear. "Only now, tainted
as you are with the Dark, could I come to you."
"Your highness," Luke acknowledged gravely. Palpatine shimmered, pleased at the honor.
"The darkness is your own."
"I told you before your faith in your friends was your weakness. They cannot help you
here. Indeed, why would they?"
"They cannot come here, true. But they will always help when they can."
"Will they? After you stole your sister's lover, and used him so selfishly before tossing him aside? Boy, you are alone now." Palpatine's clutch on his arm was hard and icy.
"You are the voice of my own fears." Luke's voice was calm and steady. "Palpatine is dead
these five years. My friends live. I live. Go away!"
The meddroid was fussing over the readings when Luke came up from meditation. "Jedi
Skywalker, please be more prudent in your meditations. Your vital signs fluctuated most
alarmingly."
"I will, SD-76." Luke settled back and thought. The rain pattered on the windowpane, and
he watched the droplets roll down the transparisteel. He owed many apologies, and suspected the
person who needed the most probably wouldn't listen to him right now.
He breathed deeply for a moment and then opened a comm channel. The worst Han could
do was tell him to go away, which was exactly what Luke had done to him. The familiar shape of
the Falcon's lounge appeared, and Luke found himself standing among a variety of shoulder-
height transparent monsters. It took him a second to remember the Falcon's secondary receiver
was located on the holoboard
"Could you come?" he asked Han who was tinkering at the tech station. "I need to talk to
you."
"Sure," Han's voice was steady, and he acted as if holograms of Luke on his gameboard were
everyday occurrences. "Want me to bring Chewie?" The Wookiee was grumbling about the
interruptions and Han's inability to sit still for ten minutes and play.
"No, just you. I owe you several apologies. But a comm is too impersonal."
"Be there in about half an hour, kid," Han said, and switched off. He tugged on his boots,
washed the grease off his hands and checked the rest of his appearance. A quick sniff of his shirt
told him he'd better change. The only thing clean was the grey silk he'd worn the day they'd
come out of the lair. No help for it, so he slipped into the shirt, the whispery slickness far too sensual against his skin, calling up memories of Luke's mouth. He left the Falcon for the
medcenter.
There's a look to waiting, Luke knew, a sort of tension that goes out of a person when the
awaited arrives. His tension didn't dissipate, but seemed to turn into both fear and shame. When
Han sat down in the chair, but didn't draw it in close by the bed, part of him sank.
"Han, I am sorry." There was no prelude, no chance for misunderstandings. "I dragged
you into this mess. I'm sorry I tore you and Leia apart. I'm sorry I used you so selfishly, for my
own pleasure without a thought for your wishes. For infecting you, for all the harm I've done, I'm
sorry. How can I make amends?"
"Amends?" The word was out of Han's mouth before he could bite it down. "Luke, you
don't have anything to be amending. I went in to rescue you knowing we could both die. And
getting you in my bed for days was a nice bonus instead. No hard feelings on my part, and here
you're eating yourself up with guilt."
Han stood up and bent over the bed. He brushed Luke's mouth with his own. "Stop it," he
whispered. "Stop it right now." He claimed a full kiss, long and warm and sweet, the way they
should all have been. Luke's mouth was soft under his and opened with almost no coaxing.
Han felt a warm, strong arm go around his neck and pull him in closer, then there was no
time to think at all, just the kiss, and Luke kissing him back, breathing for each other, the sensual dance of tongues between teeth and the need for touch.
Han pulled back reluctantly, a series of small kisses telling Luke he didn't really want to
stop.
"I thought you'd hate me," Luke said.
"Never. And when you get out, I'll show you exactly how much I don't hate you," Han
grinned, then paused. "If you want me to, that is."
For the first time in weeks, Luke smiled for real. "I'd like that, a lot."
"Blood is thicker than water
But love,
Love is thicker than blood." --Jenny Yates & Garth Brooks
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