The mission had almost been a failure – largely thanks to his own recklessness. The young rebel was so sure that if he went after the ambassador head on, it could have saved them all from a costly mission. Instead, his mistake nearly ruined their plans and made him become bait to be rescued.
Luke threw himself into his room at the rebel base and kicked the wall, so hard that a small dent was made in the metallic plating. “I thought the Force was telling me something. I thought it was with me,” he hissed to himself, limping back to his bed as he slugged himself down on the familiar sheets. There was a feeling back there, an impulse. It was as if everything in his gut were telling him to take this action now, it would make everything easier for everyone involved; it reminded him of when he heard old Ben’s voice as he took down the Death Star. That worked so why didn’t this one? Luke knew he would have to be careful from here on out, his understanding of the Force was proving to be quite limited and getting them all into trouble. His own natural desire to be a hero would one day hurt himself or others if he weren’t more cautious in the future. “All I wanted to do was help. Make things easier on everyone but I just made it worse. I wish you were here, Ben, I’m not getting this whole Jedi thing.”
Silence had become the name for his training. Ever since that fateful win on Yavin, Luke was so hopeful that he would hear more from his mentor, that he could become stronger and learn to carry the burden of being a Jedi Knight. “I need to get better at this,” Luke said to the ceiling as he lied down on his bed, hoping that if he spoke enough that his old master would miraculously appear. His faith in himself and his abilities were beginning to waver and it didn’t help that a certain friend of his always seemed to be one step ahead of him despite his own natural gifts.
It was Han rescued him from his certain death; just as he always had in the year they had known one another. Luke could tell how easily the shame was on his own face when Han patted him on the back and told him that “this one wouldn’t count.” He struggled to keep count with how many times Han had saved him. For every time Luke had helped him out, Han had done it twofold. The boy always seemed to be in his debt, and while it didn’t bother him at first, it was starting to get on his nerves. It didn’t make any sense: Luke was the one that understood the Force, he should have been just as powerful and cunning as his friend.
Luke looked down and saw a struggle forming down below in his black trousers. That always seemed to happen whenever he thought of Han – whenever they got into a fight, whenever he was frustrated, whenever he was rescued for the millionth time. Before, Luke had always ignored it. That was something that he had truly never understood and was always afraid to touch. Usually his nightly dreams would relieve him of his frustration. The youth had never thought to try and take the matter into his own hands; but, this time was different. Luke had enough. With a low groan, he unfastened his belt and slid his trousers down to the ground. His problem was poking up in the slim white briefs, as if taunting him to finally unleash his resentment. With a heavy sigh, he pushed down his underwear and stared at his sex.
Brown curls surrounded his flesh, making his eager manhood stand out from the dark patches of hair. Luke reached down with his right hand and gripped his penis, somewhat stunned at how his full length fit in his grasp. He began to gently pull down on his foreskin before moving with greater intensity, images of Solo in his mind. There was a fantasy in his mind: one where his friend was captured and Luke got the gratification of finally being the one to rescue him. Luke could just imagine the sheepish look on Han’s face, his lips curling as he struggled to thank his rescuer, his pride trying to stop him from treating the boy as a man. “Say it,” Luke begged to his friend, his right hand pumping up and down in anticipation. They were the words of acknowledgement that Luke had always wanted, the approval of his hero, and Han had no choice but to thank him.
The two men would struggle as Han refused to give in. They would wrestle on the floor, Luke’s thighs lifted up and hoisted themselves around Han’s waist, trying to take control of the situation. As hard as Han tried to dominate him, he continued to fail as they took turns spinning and trying to position themselves on top of the other. With all the force he could muster, Luke finally pinned Solo to the ground, sitting down on his waist with a proud grin on his face.
“Now I owe you.”
Luke cried out as he felt his frustration roar, his flesh thanking him as if Han’s imagined words were true. In a twist unexpected for Luke, just as he felt himself unleash, his dream of Han extended his neck and caught Luke in a passionate kiss. The boy couldn’t stop himself – instead of being repulsed by the thought of his friend locking lips with him, Luke felt an even greater and powerful feeling inside his soul that felt so right, so pure. Seed shot into the air, flying in contentment as Luke moaned and whimpered.
“W-What was that? What was I feeling?”
His right hand clung to his softening manhood, fingers playing with the loose skin as he marveled at the overwhelming release he just had. Luke had never thought about kissing anyone before; let alone another man. His best friend. There was somewhat of a taboo on that in Tatooine, where ever aliens were rare outside of the major ports, though it seemingly didn’t matter much in the core worlds. What did this mean? Was that what he wanted? For Han to kiss him?
With a gentle squeeze, Luke closed his eyes, shaken by his fantasy yet intrigued by what it might offer. Maybe this was just a one time thing – maybe it meant nothing at all. After all, there were plenty of women of all species out there interested in him, the destroyer of the Death Star. He would have to think of this another day; a new mission would come soon and he shouldn’t lose sleep over this.
Still, he couldn’t help but wonder.
Luke was so alone.
Though the halls of the Millennium Falcon were still and silent, the residents of the great vessel asleep, lingering ghosts remained and haunted. They could all feel his presence, despite only being gone for a few hours at most. No one knew what to expect – according to Boba Fett, he was supposed to have survived the carbonite procedure and delivered to the clutches of Jabba the Hutt. “Come back,” hissed a voice from the medical chamber inside the Falcon; a sickly sweet tenor cried out from the lips of Luke Skywalker while he rocked back and forth on the makeshift cot.
“Han,” Luke choked back as his brow lifted, sweat dripping down his hair and into his face as he wrestled in his dreams. Through the imaginary haze, the youth felt he could almost see a glimpse of his friend winking back at him, before sizzling away into nothingness. He ran toward the fading image of Han Solo and wrapped his arms around him, tightly holding on and refusing to let go. “I need you,” Luke pleaded, laying his head directly on his chest. There was no heartbeat – no steady rise and fall and rise and fall to soothe him once more. His world had been turned upside down and Han was the one person he knew he could trust; the person who had enough distance from the rebellion to not look at him any different.
“Don’t worry, kid,” came out a distorted yet familiar voice. The gentle sensation of hands on his waist made him close his eyes and smile, a steady stream of tears falling from his bloodshot eyes. “I got you. We can take on the whole galaxy. Remember what I said? You, me, Chewie, just wondering around without a care. But I have to warn you, that’ll be three you owe me. We wouldn’t want you to get trapped in a life debt, now would we?”
“I want to escape,” Luke whispered in such a terror that he couldn’t recognize his own voice. Maybe this was the reality and the other was the dream; maybe his father wasn’t his own mortal enemy. Maybe he still had a lightsaber and his right hand. Skywalker looked up at the image of Han and pressed his own lips against his, basking in the feel of rough stubble next to his smooth skin.
It was everything he ever imagined – and just like that, Han Solo faded away once more.
Luke woke up with a jolt: the surrounding room was dark, all the monitors turned off, only the steady hum of the hyperdrive filled the ship, with the door sealed shut. “I want to go back,” Luke pleaded, closing his eyes for a second as he tried to remember his friend. It was on Hoth when the youth started to realize that he had feelings for his friend. For a long time, he assumed that this was just the thrill of competition and the result of his jealousy over the relationship they were both pining for over Leia. Whenever she spent time with him, it made him so envious. For years, he had assumed that this meant that it was Leia he was attracted to, but that was wrong.
It was Han.
It was always Han.
Luke looked down at his lap and saw the shadow of a tent rising beneath his blanket. He awkwardly began to fumble with the button of his trousers and pushed them and the blanket down to his thighs. Ever since he was on Dagobah, he started touching himself more often – to relieve himself of his separation and to make him feel closer to the ones that he loved. “I want you with me, just for a moment,” begged Luke, closing his eyes as he reached down with his right hand and- no. No, that was gone, too. Everything was taken from him. His left hand nervously reached down and slipped off his white briefs to meet his fatigues, breaching the wild and untamed hair that adorned his flesh. With a sigh, Luke tried holding himself with his untrained hand to little use.
“Let me have this,” he hissed to the air, frustrated in defeat. Suddenly, however, Luke recalled how he had previously summoned his lightsaber to his hand once. While on Dagobah, with the simple move of an arm, whole rocks and his ship lifted into the air. Maybe that technique could work here. The youth raised his right arm over his sex, eyes closed as he concentrated. In his mind, his right hand was still there instead of an aching stump. Luke could sense fingers reaching out and gripping his manhood, the entire length fitting inside his grasp. “Han,” Luke moaned, pretending that this conjuration of The Force was the work of his friend. His foreskin pulled back, sliding up and down, increasing in a simple rhythm.
“Han,” Luke cried out one final time, feeling the tendril of energy squeeze his entire sex, positioning him so that his essence would spill out onto his stomach. In his head, he saw Solo there, smiling down upon him as he knelt down between Luke’s legs, gently lifting them up around him as he crept closer to Luke, their lips touching for one quick peck. Han kissed him on the forehead one final time. That would have to be enough for now – Luke’s penis shriveled and shrunk as his mind fell back at ease, following him to gentle snores, if only for a moments rest.
The fire inside Skywalker was nearly as the strong as the wondrous flame outside his shelter, the bonfire of Endor called out to the heavens in victorious glee, freed from the chains of the Empire. Palpatine was no more and the destruction of the Death Star took most of the figureheads and military strategists with it. Everyone could relax – not just the rebels, everyone that had suffered. This was the dawn of a new era and Luke Skywalker was there to witness it. “It’s over, Artoo,” Luke whispered to his dear friend. The droid whistled and hummed back in harmony before slowly buzzing off to sleep.
Luke left the celebration early and was now lying on a bed, thinking over all the events of his life and wondering just what to do next. That was the question everyone was trying to avoid, right? What would happen next? Would the friends that he had made the last three and a half years splinter off back to their own planets, content with peace, continuing on what they had put aside to fight? What about Leia, his sister? Without a war, her time would be spent with delegations and senators.
Where did Luke Skywalker fit in this lonely universe?
Maybe Han would stay with him. Luke remembered the warmth of Han’s embrace as they reunited on Endor, shortly before the festivities began. His hands gripped his waist and pulled him in, protectively clasped around him as if he never wanted to let go. “Han,” was all Luke could say as he relished in his arms. Everything about being with him felt so right – it felt so good. That was everything he had ever dreamed of, to belong in someone’s arms like that, their eyes dancing in delight as they looked into his own, as if they were peering into his soul. They understood each other better than anyone.
The subtle acknowledgment made Luke’s chest tighten as he realized the tone and respect that coughed out of Han’s lips. There wasn’t a condescending “kid” like he’d been used to hearing all these years: he was now just Luke, an equal to Han’s eyes. The young Jedi had to bite down on his lip and stop himself from revealing all his dreams and emotions to Solo, seconds away from spilling all that he had desired.
Because it was not meant to be.
If there was one thing Luke learned in the near year since his friend was gone, it was that Han’s heart belonged to someone else; his sister, Leia, was the heart of his desires. That stung to think about, like a knife stabbing into his heart. Of course, it made sense. Han was always trying to win her over, ever since he had first laid eyes on her. Tension and lust seemingly filled the room whenever those two spoke to one another, their eyes twinkling with desire as they tried to deny the feelings they shared. When Han was captured, the same unbearable anchor in his soul could be seen plainly on Leia.
But Luke could tell by her actions that it was a bit more – Han had declared his love.
No, a future with Han was not meant to be. All of those nights Luke shared with himself, pouring out his fantasies and dreams of a future were going to remain just that. The youth would never get to experience sharing a bed with Han, as he had always dreamed. He would never get spend the last of his years in the Falcon with Han, as he had always dreamed. Solo was meant to spend his time and future with Leia, giving her all that Luke had ever wanted.
It wasn’t fair – but Luke held no malice toward his sister.
There was still something he needed to do before he could finally let go of Han. Luke turned and looked toward his droid, who had deactivated himself. There was no one else that could hear him in his lone little room; the roar of the outside bonfire and Ewok and Rebels dancing and singing hand in hand drowned out any other noise. “One last time,” he whispered to himself, shimmying out of his underpants and tossing them to the side.
Luke looked down at himself; the area above his sex was shaven down to the skin, a reflection of Luke’s newfound appreciation for himself and pride in his look. “Just this once,” hushed Luke, contorting his right hand into a fist as he closed his eyes, sending a current of energy surrounding his flesh. Yes, that was it. Ever since he’d lost his hand, Luke played around with the Force, practicing his mastery on himself when he had the time to spare. With his left hand, he reached downward below his sex and lent his fingers into his crack. “Just once.”
Han would never be one with him, inside as he had always dreamed, but he would allow himself to pretend one final time. Luke bit down on his lip as he imagined the Force surrounding him, with the face of his friend looking back at him. One, two, then three. Oh, the Jedi knew how big the sex of his friend was and wanted to experience the entire sensation. “Luke,” Han would whimper into his ear, questioning if he were okay as he fully sheathed himself inside Luke; it felt so powerful and tight.
“Yes,” Luke nodded, increasing the speed of the energy surrounding his manhood. His best friend would nod at him, smiling as he continued to rock in and out of him, his callused fingers dancing around every inch of Luke’s skin. Their lips met once more, though it wasn’t a simple peck; this was the most passionate kiss ever shared or imagined between the two. Luke was giving his all to this dream, wanting to express his love as if it were the last time he would ever get to share it.
“I’m yours,” Han groaned as he let out one final push inside Luke.
Those were all the words Luke needed to hear; his own sex began to erupt within seconds and dribbled down his skin. The youth groaned as he felt the last of his seed escape him, as if his very essence were being drained, his breath slowing and his eyes glazing over. With his right hand, Luke cupped this image of Han in his hand and smiled at him; a single tear slid out of his eye.
“But I know I’m not yours,” Luke admitted, the very sight of Han Solo disappearing from his mind. Sniffling for a few seconds, he reached for a nearby rag and began to clean himself. This would be the last time he would think of Han like that – it had to be.
“Thanks, Han. I owe you one.”