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How did he end up here? Here being stuck on the Slave I alone with Boba Fett in the middle of no-space as the ship’s life-support functions dwindled down, down, down…
Luke knew exactly how he ended up here. How they ended up here. But it seemed improbable for a number of reasons.
One, Luke and Fett generally had no reason to be in each other’s orbits, notwithstanding their shared connection to a certain Mandalorian with a lasersword and a green child.
Two, Luke was a Jedi Master and should be better than this, dammit.
Three, Leia was unable to rush immediately to his side after he alerted her to his predicament. From their Force connection, Luke gathered that she was either on her way or sending someone who was closer to his vicinity, as best as he was able to convey where that was. The Force was better for sharing feelings than precise coordinates, which he’d mortifyingly explained to an irritated bounty hunter. Oh, sorry, not a bounty hunter anymore. Fine.
That was fine.
This was all fine.
They were grown adults. They could sit waiting for death or rescue without biting each other’s heads off.
It was a boring way to die, all things considered. Luke had imagined his death being a far grander affair. He wondered if Fett didn’t die from the sarlacc partly out of spite for such an unimpressive ending.
“Holochess?” Luke suggested.
Fett grunted. “No djarik set on board at the moment.”
“I wish Artoo was here.”
“You’ve said that three times.”
“It’s three-times true.”
Luke had already meditated for hours, while Fett did something similar, it seemed. Luke wasn’t sure what he’d been up to. Most likely he’d tried fiddling with his ship’s internal wirings again, as if that could fix a broken hyperdrive and thoroughly-shot thrusters.
Newsflash: it couldn’t.
They were well and truly stuck in the middle of nowhere. There wasn’t even a populated planet nearby they could limp to.
Move the ship with the Force, Fett had suggested.
Luke had laughed in his face.
Then, he apologized and clarified that he could move a ship a short distance, like lifting it out a muddy swamp—or yeah, sure, a sarlacc, but sarlaccs tend to tug back, and oh right you know that, you intimately know that—but not send it careening across the parsecs to the nearest service station.
Just nudge it, and inertia will take us somewhere, Fett had pointed out.
So Luke had nudged the Slave I. Now, they were floating listlessly about as fast as Jabba the Hutt could slither.
After accepting the reality of their situation, they’d wandered into separate areas of the ship to pout. But they’d both gravitated back towards the cockpit to watch the stars.
Fett crossed his arms over his chest, either to be standoffish or simply to ward off the cold that likely infiltrated even Mandalorian armor. “You’re the hero of the New Republic. When are they coming to rescue you?”
Luke stretched indolently in the co-pilot’s seat. “Hopefully a quarter before we run out of oxygen.”
Fett muttered something under his breath that sounded like ‘wiseass.’
Half-right. Luke smiled to himself.
They’d diverted all remaining power to life-support, so most of the blinking lights that usually decorated the cockpit had gone dark. It was a cold, gray shell. The starlight was starkly bright in contrast.
“What about my jetpack?”
“You think you can power an entire ship with a jetpack?” Luke asked. He tried to keep the doubt out of his voice.
“I don’t know,” Fett said. His palms were laid flat on his thighs. “I’m trying here.”
“I know you’re trying.”
Fett sighed and relaxed into the pilot’s chair. “Ahh,” he scoffed. “I shouldn’t be worried anyway, right?”
“Yes, you should? It seems like a worrying situation to me.”
Fett turned towards Luke, raising his eyebrows. “I’m with the ‘last Jedi.’ Surely the Force has bigger plans for you than this.”
Luke sniffed. “You’d be surprised.” He tried to prop his feet up on the console, but Fett motioned for him to put them down on the deck where they belonged. The man was awfully touchy about protecting a ship that had failed them, not that Luke would be tactless enough to say so aloud. Instead, he said the other thing on his mind. “You believe in the Force, then?”
“It’s not about what I believe,” Fett said, staring out into space. “Its effects are real.” He rubbed his neck. “Call it what you like, but it’s a power that some people have. A power that some people wield against others.”
“It’s not a power a person can possess. It’s an energy that persists in all things. It binds the universe together.”
“Alright, Jedi, it’s an energy that some people wield against others.”
Luke wanted to argue the point, but he was intrigued by the small smile that crossed Fett’s face. “It doesn’t have to be used for harm,” Luke said. “I could use it to prolong your life out here if things get dire.”
“Don’t,” Fett cautioned, raising a finger in warning. “No mystical energy controls my destiny.”
Luke burst out laughing again. He couldn’t help it, even if made Fett all grumbly. If the man had fur, he’d have bristled with it.
“What?” Fett asked as Luke’s laughter ebbed into soft chuffs.
Luke was smug. “You would not believe who said the same thing to me once.”
Another brow raised.
“Han.”
“Oh, kriff,” Fett swore, scrunching his face in dismay.
“Yeah,” Luke affirmed. He didn’t need to elaborate about Han.
Han was a sore spot between him and Fett.
Come to think of it, there were a lot of sore spots between them.
Luke wasn’t one to hold a person’s past against them. He was more concerned with the present. And with people’s potential. That’s half of why he was in this situation in the first place.
“Anyway, I never said I was going to change your destiny. I just offered to help you breathe. It’s not a marriage proposal.”
Luke expected Fett to growl at him again.
Instead, he was on the receiving end of a fantastically sly smirk. “You should be so lucky to spend the last hours of your life married to me.”
“What?” Luke gawked at him.
But Fett just nodded and turned back to the canopy view of the stars.
No. No, no, no. Fett couldn't just say that and then get quiet. If Luke had been content to politely leave the other man alone for any amount of time while waiting for the inevitable, that was out the airlock now. “Fett,” he tried weakly, then cleared his throat. “Boba,” he said louder, deciding that Fett had invited him to cross the given-name line, “Why did you agree to this mission?”
Luke had almost asked ‘what’s so good about being married to you?’ or ‘are you currently experiencing space sickness?’ but thought better of it. Besides, his question got to the heart of the matter. It got to the heart of the glimmer of something Luke had seen in the former bounty hunter. Something that Fett didn’t seem to want anyone to see, but Luke couldn’t help it. He was always looking for the good in people. And once he saw a sliver of it, he wanted to mine the whole ore. He’d happily chip away at Fett’s rocky exterior until their last breath.
Fett bit his lip in thought.
Luke waited patiently. (A Jedi was always patient.)
The smooth, tanned face (that didn’t at all look like he’d spent however long in a sarlacc pit and could he please share his bacta-spa regiment) continued to stare off into the distance. “What if I said it was because it was the right thing to do.”
“That depends,” Luke said, folding his hands in his robe. He wore it for the aura, which had no discernable impact on Fett but was coming in handy for warmth. “Is that the truth? And don’t say ‘from a certain point of view.’”
Fett’s eyes found his. There wasn’t anger in them, only resignation. “Why, because you can sense a lie?”
“I can, but that’s not what I meant. I just want to keep you from saying more things my friends have said.”
“Ah,” Fett said, closing and opening his eyes. “Well, then.” There was another long pause. Fett rubbed his face.
Luke was patient. Like a true Jedi. And he absolutely didn’t have an itch on the back of his knee that needed scratching.
“You’re the last Jedi, or at least the last person to claim so,” Fett said, echoing his earlier sentiment but softly this time, more like he was stating a fact and less like he was making fun of Luke. “And I am the last clone , at least as far as I can find.”
Luke nodded for him to continue, acknowledging the serious tone.
“You want to restart your line,” Fett said. “I want mine to end.”
Luke swallowed and looked into brown eyes that shined with sincerity.
“I want my line to rest in peace. Not…” he trailed off.
Luke understood his implication.
“I owe it to them.” Fett added with a frown, looking down at his feet. “I certainly never did anything else for them.”
His clone brothers, he meant. Luke knew very little about the clones, much less Fett’s relationship with them. He just knew that Fett was a clone who’d ended up as a bounty hunter who was famous enough (infamous enough) to take jobs for Luke’s father. He wondered how that came to be. He also wondered why Fett looked so young compared to the clones who’d lived long enough to be involved with the late stages of the Rebellion when Luke had joined.
But he didn’t wonder any longer why Fett felt compelled to volunteer his services for this mission. Luke could admit he’d been nervous to bring along friends and family. It was so dangerous. What if…? But bringing Fett (or rather, Fett bringing him)? Fine. If the man was determined to risk his life to prevent the rise of a new clone army, this time Force-sensitive clones, he was welcome. That’s how Luke had felt about it when Fett offered him a ride to the edges of Wild Space to try to fight some kind of Force demon that had gotten its claws into the old Kamino datachips and imperial cloning technology. So far, the creatures it had produced had little in common with Fett.
Fett flicked the useless thruster mechanism up and down, an unusual sign of agitation for him. “Even if you weren’t going, I would still have pursued it. Really, you’re helping me on my mission.” His tone was lighter.
“That so?” Luke mused, but he smiled as he said it.
Fett smiled back.
Hm.
That was a nice smile. Attractive, yes, but what he meant was it was a kind one. Luke had seen Fett smile like a predator or in jest. But not in solidarity. Not with something like genuine fondness behind it.
Again, it was nice.
Luke widened his own smile. With teeth.
Fett did, too.
And now they were just two grinning nerfherders on a fool’s errand to save the universe that was going to end with a whimper rather than a bang.
Luke wasn’t sure how to transition the moment, and was just basking in the camaraderie that made the Force sing in beatific harmony in his veins.
Fett’s hand moved towards him.
Oh?
Did he want to…?
Sure!
Luke eagerly clasped Fett’s hand.
The touch was warm. And strong. And it sent shivers down his spine.
But it was also stiff. Fett had frozen where he sat, and was looking at him curiously.
Luke smiled encouragingly. That had worked before. And the ‘mystical energy field’ between them still buzzed merrily, flooding Luke with goodwill towards him.
Fett’s eyes were drifting away from Luke towards the console at his side.
Luke glanced in the direction where Fett’s eyes kept darting.
The life-support check light was blinking yellow.
Oh no.
Fett hadn’t been reaching out to hold Luke’s hand.
He’d been reaching out to tap the console button.
“Er,” Luke started to pull his hand away.
But Fett just held his hand tighter, bringing his other hand to wrap around the first for good measure. Holding Luke’s hand in both of his, his gaze was so intense that Luke wondered, not for the first time, if the man’s constant ability to outrun death despite running towards it at full speed could be explained by untapped Force sensitivity.
So now they were just sitting here holding hands. Luke felt his cheeks heating up. Oh great, now he was blushing. He could use the Force to slow his breathing down to practically nothing, but he couldn’t figure out how to stop his own face from turning pink. How Master Yoda must be laughing at him.
Luke wasn’t laughing.
Luke was falling.
Falling, falling into those eyes, that mind, and the soul beneath.
“You’re alright, Jedi.”
Alright. Luke considered the word. It was an understatement to what he was feeling towards the other man, particularly how wildly his opinion had swung.
Alright. The pendulum was firmly on the ‘good side’ of its arc, and it was hovering there like a bird caught in flight.
Alright. When Luke wanted to shout: But do you feel the stars going supernova where our fingers touch? Do you feel your body on a precipice, a reactor with a leak, about to blow apart the very moment you hear your name?
Alright. Fearless. Always fearless. He wanted to take the leap.
“Call me Luke.”
“Luke.”
Fett’s voice was deep and liquidy, like the ocean. Luke let it wash over him. This sea was calm. Sure. Buoyant. Before, it had been treacherous, words spat like waves of destruction. Now, Luke floated.
What if he could surf the tide until the drowning deep took hold of both of them? What if he married himself to the sea and treaded water til the very end? Hours remained before they became one with the vastness of space. Hours that could be spent swimming in this feeling.
“Luke? Are you well?”
He wasn’t shielding. Not even a little bit. He could sense Fett’s concern, overlaying amusement, which itself covered deeper emotions, darker ones, like guilt.
“You haven’t failed them,” Luke told him. He said it with conviction.
Fett blinked rapidly, and now, now he began to pull away.
Luke stopped him in the same way.
Hand over hand over hand over hand.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” Luke said.
“I’m here,” Fett echoed quietly. “For all the good it’ll do anyone if I die here.”
“Intentions matter.”
“Actions matter,” Fett rejoined.
Luke’s smile turned wry. “Perhaps we can agree they both matter?”
“Hm. We could shake on it, but…” Fett let out a rumble that put Luke back out to sea. He was only anchored by the renewed grip on his hand.
They took turns tugging their hands back and forth, like playing on a see-saw rather than anything approaching arm wrestling. Push and pull. Give and take. Back and forth.
“Oh, you’re a delight,” Luke breathed, closing his eyes for a moment.
“I think you mean ‘menace.’”
“Delight,” Luke repeated firmly.
“I guess I shouldn't wonder why you’d confuse the two, given the company you keep.”
“And yet you’re the one who insisted that being married to you even for only a few hours would be amazing. Mindblowing. Delightful.”
“I said none of that. I said you’d be lucky.”
Luke squirmed. His fingers were a sweaty point of warmth now, and so were Fett’s. They slid together, neither one of them willing to let go. “Maybe I want to be lucky.”
“Sorry. Fresh out of witnesses. I guess we needed Artoo after all.”
“It doesn’t have to be a New Republic marriage. Doesn’t that armor on your chest mean you’re a Mandalorian? Din formally adopted Grogu by just speaking a few words of intent.” Luke emphasized the last word to support his argument from before.
“You want to get mando-married to me for a few hours before we die?” Fett asked, tone uncomprehending.
“You got something better to do?” Luke replied. “I suggested holochess, and you shot me down.”
Fett stroked his thumb back and forth over Luke’s skin. The subtle caress felt like it was setting off a million fireworks in Luke’s body. Chemistry. This was chemistry.
“You know, farmboy, we don’t have to marry to do things married people do.”
Luke laughed and followed their joined hands as Fett pulled them close to his chest. Luke was still chuckling as he climbed onto Fett’s lap. “No, no. I want the full experience. You boasted. Now own it.”
“Alright, Jed– Luke.”
“Mm, say that again.”
“Luke.”
He got his legs spread over Fett’s lap and shimmied to get settled. The heat and tension was electric. He wanted to follow this feeling. He wanted to nestle against Fett’s mind and his body. He gestured at their still-joined hands with his chin. “You gonna let go?”
“Are you?”
Instead of answering, Luke bent down and bit Fett’s lip.
Fett gasped and reared back.
Their joined hands wound into the folds of Luke’s robe.
“Does this come off?”
“It all comes off. And I can prove it if you let go of my hands.”
“You first.”
“No, you.”
Luke rocked into him and trailed his lips downwards to nip at his chin, then his neck. He laved his tongue over the skin he’d worried between his teeth. “Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m notoriously difficult.”
“The notorious Boba Fett. I haven’t forgotten.” Luke hummed as he continued nuzzling and sucking along Fett’s—Boba’s—neck. Life thrummed just under the skin, and Luke wondered if he bit down harder if he’d be able to taste the Force energy that ran like a live current through the other man. Would it taste as good as the musky, salty sweetness coating his tongue?
“And yet you’re getting quite cozy with me.”
Luke arched into him, pressing his pelvis as close as he could to their joined hands. “Let’s get even cozier. I’m freezing my balls off.”
“Charming. I’ll warm you up, Jedi.”
“Luke,” he corrected him.
“Luke.”
“Wait,” Luke panted breathlessly. “You have to say the words. You’re supposed to marry us.”
“Are you gonna get off my lap if I don’t?” Boba asked. He sounded pained about it.
“No,” Luke assured. If Boba didn’t want to get last-minutes-alive-married, then Luke wouldn’t press it. He still wanted him. But the desire for it wouldn’t leave him. As ludicrous as it sounded, it seemed like the right thing to do. Tying himself to Boba Fett. A new union, sanctifying their brief alliance and making it matter to them, even if they failed to make it matter to the greater universe. “But, please? Please, Boba?” He bowed his head in supplication.
“Fuck, don’t beg. Not for that.” Boba hissed, sounding pained but in a different way. A better way. Luke grinding down on him probably helped.
Boba’s legs splayed wider, forcing Luke to stretch further. It burned pleasantly in his hips and thighs. All his Jedi contortions were paying off, even if this wasn’t the purpose of them. Luke squeezed Boba’s hands.
“Pleeeease, Boba, marry me. We’re gonna die here anyway. Don’t make me die alone, never having married someone. I want something here to matter.”
The pause was long enough that Luke was certain Boba wasn’t going to do it. But then he said, “Repeat these words.”
“I have to say them, too?”
“It has to be mutual, Jed—Luke. Would you wed someone unwilling?”
Luke squirmed on his lap. “You don’t feel unwilling to me.”
Boba ignored him in favor of speaking in a language Luke didn’t know. It must be Mando’a. “Mhi solus tome.”
“Mhi solus tome,” Luke repeated as solemnly as he could through his excitement.
Boba leaned up and kissed his left cheek. “Mhi solus dar'tome.”
“Mhi solus dar'tome.”
Boba kissed his other cheek. “Mhi me'dinui an.”
“Mhi me'dinui an.”
Boba kissed his forehead. “Mhi ba'juri verde.”
“Mhi ba'juri verde.”
Boba peppering gentle kisses all over Luke’s flushed face made him want a real one. He dipped down to press their lips together.
Yes.
Boba kissed him back, not interrupting to speak more words in Mando’a.
The firm pressure of Boba’s lips against his was sending Luke’s soul out of his body and into the stars that stood vigil over their twilight hours.
“Are we married now?”
“By Mandalorian custom, yes. It’s not a legal marriage.”
Luke ran his tongue over the seam of Boba’s lips, teasing him. “Just a marriage of two hearts, hm?”
Luke pressed his advantage, slipping his tongue inside Boba’s mouth as he guided their hands to his crotch, using the weight of his body to create pressure there, too. Between the press of their bodies, he could feel Boba getting hard, too.
“Udesii,” Boba groaned around his tongue. “This isn’t love. It’s lust mingled with desperation. With a dash of space sickness.”
“Sweet-talker. Don’t forget a pinch of Force bullshit.”
“Of course. Can’t forget the Force bullshit. Except,” Boba paused to lick his lips enticingly, “I’m not Force sensitive. So the Force isn’t making me want to fuck you, unless you’re putting it in my head. And I don’t think you know how to do that. Or, you wouldn’t do that.”
Luke rolled his hips and appreciated the view of Boba’s face, which had reddened everywhere Luke’s lips and teeth had been. “Which is it? I don’t know how? Or I wouldn’t?”
“You tell me.”
“Oh come on. You can trust me, you know.” He restrained himself from winking.
“I don’t.”
That stung.
“I trust you, if it helps.”
“You shouldn’t.” Boba suddenly bucked up, seeking more than what to be the unsatisfying press of their still-joined hands over the bulge in his pants. “I’m told I’m not a trustworthy man.”
“The Force tells me otherwise.”
“That’s not how the Force works, Knight Skywalker.”
Luke shivered and bent down to wetly lick the shell of Boba’s ear. He whispered, “It’s Master, actually.”
Boba’s breaths came fast and short, evidence that he was getting as worked up as Luke. “Promoted yourself already?”
“Who’s gonna stop me?”
“Certainly not me. Do whatever you want.”
Luke chose to take that out of context. Carte blanche to do whatever he wanted with the man beneath him. He lowered his voice, making it as deep and sultry as he could. “And if I want to fuck you right here in this chair?”
Boba’s lashes fluttered briefly, then he pinned Luke with dark eyes. “I’m not as bendy as I used to be, but I’m sure we could work something out.”
“Oh fuck.”
“I already said yes, no need to prather on, riduur.”
“What’s riduur?”
“Husband.”
“Oh right. We’re consummating our one-day marriage.”
“I don’t think we’ll last that long.”
Luke narrowed his eyes and pointedly ground down against the hard length he could feel straining under him. “Speak for yourself. I have excellent stamina.”
“I meant life-support failure is imminent. We won’t last a day.”
“Ah. Running out of air will certainly kill the mood. But I can think of a life-affirming activity we can do until then.”
“You talk a lot.”
The observation was said blandly, but Luke still tensed. “Would you rather I put my mouth to other uses?”
Boba shrugged with one shoulder. “Do what you like. You have a nice voice.”
Oh. That was unexpected. His muscles unclenched. Some of his past partners had teased him for running his mouth. “Not as nice as yours. I think you could talk me to orgasm.”
“I’d rather take a more hands-on approach.”
“Please.”
Luke wanted those hands on him. Wanted it now.
He’d been determined not to lose the hand-holding competition, but this was torture. The man acted like he was perfectly content to just kiss and grind against each other. Maybe he was. More likely, he just wanted to win their battle of wills.
Luke was not a quitter. But he knew how to win the war by giving up the fight.
With no warning, he tore his sweat-sticky hands free. He made quick work of unhooking Boba’s enormous belt buckle (why was it so huge and what did the symbols on it mean?) and unfastened his pants. He found Boba’s cock, pulled it out from his waistband, and wrapped his hand around as much of it as he could.
The thick length twitched invitingly.
Boba grunted with satisfaction.
Luke wanted more of those sounds.
He slowly, slowly started moving his hand, exploring the shape and feel of him. His wandering fingers trailed all the way down to Boba’s balls. He squeezed a few times, before returning up the shaft to brush his thumb over the head.
Boba’s breath hitched, and his hips jerked.
Luke grinned and kissed his neck again. He began stroking him, languorous pulls that let Luke satisfy his own tactile need to feet the root of him throb under his palm.
Boba moved his head to a new angle that brought their lips together again. They kissed messily, filthily. “Want you, riddur,” Luke whispered, trying out the Mando’a.
Boba made a mumph sound as they kissed deeply.
“It’s riduur.”
“Riduur,” Luke repeated, mimicking the correction.
Luke liked hearing Boba explain things. He wasn’t kidding about enjoying the sound of his voice, especially like this. Deep, gravely, and breathy with desire.
“Translate the marriage vows,” Luke requested, licking his own palm then bringing it back to Boba’s swollen cock.
Boba actually whimpered. But after a few moments, maybe gathering his thoughts after all his blood went south below his belly, he finally responded. "We are one when together.”
“Mm-hm,” Luke encouraged, adjusting his hips to a more stable position so that he could jack Boba with two hands.
“We are one when parted.”
“Mm.”
Luke was riveted by his face and by the power between his thighs. He rolled Boba’s balls again, gliding easily with the sweat and pre-come that he’d smeared over every delectable, veiny ridge.
“We will share ah!—all.”
He had to taste him.
He braced his hands on Boba’s thighs and slid down between spread legs until his knees hit the deck with a thud. He ignored the small hurt and focused on more appealing things. One appealing thing, really. He surged forward and took the head of Boba’s cock in his mouth.
“We will! Raise warriors!"
Boba pulsed on his tongue, and Luke thought the man might come right then.
He didn’t.
But he grabbed Luke’s hair and held him still.
Luke removed his mouth with a pop and licked his lips.
Boba’s eyes were wild and even darker than before.
“Okay?” Luke asked.
“I need a minute.”
Luke rested his cheek on one of Boba’s strong thighs. They maintained eye contact, watching each other with interest.
He’d married this man. Maybe not officially, but he’d said the words. He’d said them with intent. Sometimes the best way to heal the past was by fully embracing it. Mending hurts with acceptance. He’d leapt over the divide between them and lassoed their fates, pushing them together like tectonic plates. His body shook with the tremors of it. Boba was his now, and he was Boba’s. And Luke craved his touch with the power of two fiery suns, which burned over the site where they’d first crashed into one another.
Luke retreated only to stand up and begin removing his own clothes.
“I can help,” Boba offered, holding out a hand.
“You can watch.”
Luke stripped strategically. He started with his robe and boots.
“Nice socks.”
Luke looked down and saw he was wearing his porg socks. “Thanks. They were a gift.”
The pants and undershorts were the next things to go. But he kept the socks. It was cold.
“Mesh’la,” Boba murmured, looking him over and down.
Luke didn’t need the Force or a translation to know he was being appreciated. Eyes ablaze, he closed the distance between them. “Here. Lift up.” Luke helped Boba shimmy out of his pants and skirt, and let the fabric pool at his boots.
He rubbed his hands up and down Boba’s sparsely-haired thighs, which goosebumped at his touch.
Luke’s dick was aching now, still trapped in the confines of his tight pants. He was shaking with it.
“Come up here. Let me give us both warmth and pleasure.”
He returned to his new favorite spot on Boba’s lap and wrapped his arms around him. “You’re armor’s cold,” he complained.
“I can take it off,” Boba said. “Or I can do this.”
Boba’s hands, still warm from before, found Luke’s hard dick.
Luke jolted at the contact.
“Good?”
“Mesh’la,” Luke replied, not sure if it was the right use of the word but not caring in the slightest. It was very good.
Boba chuckled and stroked them together, hot and sure and just-this-side of too much.
The sensations were overwhelming.
A sound escaped him that sounded horrifyingly like a mewl.
“Kriff, you’re eager. That’s not a complaint. Just—”
Boba twisted on an upstroke, and Luke writhed again and bit his cheek to keep from shouting. But that hurt, so he gnawed on Boba’s jaw instead, letting his teeth scrape the stubble. He liked how the wetted skin gleamed afterwards.
Eventually, he said, “I haven’t done this in a while.”
Boba’s stroking paused.
“What, sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you, like, twenty-nine? Shouldn’t you be raring to go all the time, at least with yourself?”
“Don’t stop, Boba.”
The stroking resumed. Luke buried his face in Boba’s neck, breathing him in. The Force pointed out to him each and every pheromone wafting into his airways. And each one was like lights on a landing pad, drawing Luke to the target. A delicious pressure built low and deep.
“I’ve been busy spending all my time with a toddler. ” Grind. Lick. Breathe. “Also, I’ve found that being the face of the Rebellion and the last Jedi has had unintended consequences on my love life. People find me intimidating.”
“I can relate.”
Boba kissed him until he was dizzy.
“I’ll bet you can,” Luke said belatedly, thinking how Boba’s entire dememanor, from his armor to his cadence, seemed patterned around telling other people to fuck off. He thought of the fucking missle Boba usually wore on his back. He gasped for air as Boba smeared beads of pre-come down his cock and thought about the green and red helmet with the black visor. He thought of doing this on the old Hutt throne, instead of the pilot’s seat. “When was the last time someone was brave enough to proposition you?”
“I’m being propositioned right now.”
Luke smacked him lightly on the head. “I don’t count.”
“Oh yes, Jedi,” Boba rumbled deeply, using the hand not wrapped about Luke’s cock to squeeze his bare ass. Luke could feel every finger’s indentation on his flesh. “You count. You count.”
Luke moaned in response, rocking back into the hand on his ass and forward into the hand on his cock.
He was close.
Boba was closer.
“Ah. Ah. Ah.”
Their dicks were pressed together so closely that Luke could feel the build and release of the other man’s climax. His riduur’s lifeforce. He’d meant to watch his face when he came, wanting to see ecstasy overwhelm him, but he’d been otherwise occupied with his mouth.
Boba’s release was warm and sticky, and it made his fist wonderfully slick as his cock rested against his belly. He continued to absently stroke Luke.
Luke wanted more.
“You can stick your fingers in my ass.”
Boba’s eyes gleamed. “Is that how you want to come?” he asked thickly, tongue tripping over the hazy orgasm that had left him loose and even more handsy, like he was touching Luke in a dream. “Riding my fingers and fucking my hand?”
“Yeah.” Luke closed his eyes in bliss. “Yeah.”
The first finger slid in easily.
They both moaned.
It felt good, but Luke wanted to feel full. He wanted Boba to find that place that made stars light up behind his eyes. He hadn’t been touched there in so long. “More.”
Two fingers now. In and out. Rubbing. Searching. Curling.
Luke jerked under the intimate caress. Despite the cold, he was a focused center of heat and pressure and flashes of intense pleasure. He twisted his body to perfect the angle and draw out more of those sparks.
The fist on his cock stilled. The hand on Luke’s ass urged him into a thrusting motion.
Luke moved.
“That’s it. Come for me, Luke.”
He fucked Boba’s hands.
Boba took a turn at Luke’s neck, licking and sucking, and it sent him over the edge of that precipice he’d been skirting ever since he decided he had to have him. Between a Force presence as fierce as his own and deft hands on his body, he succumbed to the sensations rushing through him.
“Boba!”
The sweet, excruciating little-death suffused his body, pulsating his softening cock, pounding in his heart, and even curling his toes.
“Udesii, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Of course he had him. He’d married him.
Luke wasn’t inclined to separate their bodies yet, and Boba didn’t complain when after some rearranging of limbs, Luke got himself curled sideways in Boba’s lap with his feet up on the armest.
But resting his head on armor plating wasn’t comfortable. It was harshing his buzz.
He yanked off the left pauldron and tossed it behind the pilot’s chair. Then, he laid his head back down on Boba’s shoulder.
Much better.
Boba huffed. “Excuse me?”
Luke waved his hand in the air lazily. “You’re excused.”
A blustering sound was muffled in Luke’s hair.
“So we’re not dead yet. What else do married people do?”
“We’re doing it, riduur.”
“Cuddling?”
“Arguing.”
Luke chuckled. “Well, we’re good at that.”
“I thought we were pretty good at the other thing, too.”
Fingers traced Luke’s lips, and he leaned up for Boba to kiss him. Compared to all they’d done, it was chaste, but no less passionate in its own way.
Luke wiggled his bare ass against Boba. “Let’s do it again.”
“Now?”
“We’re kind of on a time crunch here, husband. And I seem to remember you saying I could fuck you.”
They kissed again, and this time Luke explored Boba’s mouth with his tongue. The headiness was divine, as if Luke was drinking directly from the fountain of life, even as the waterline fell lower and lower as time ticked on.
“Guess I can’t go back on my word when my husband is a Force-wielding sorcerer.”
Luke was stuck on back and Force. It gave him an idea.
He stood up and stretched, languidly easing his quivering muscles.
Boba was still sprawled in the pilot’s seat with his pants around his ankles. His eyes were half-lidded as he watched Luke.
In a flash of speed and strength, Luke swooped Boba up in his arms.
Boba yelped something obscene.
Luke hooked Boba’s legs up on his hips, and then spun around and dropped him onto his back on the console, making sure to avoid anything sharp or blinking.
Boba’s expression was slack with surprise, and his heaving breaths indicated Luke had knocked the wind out of him.
He wondered if he could knock a few other things loose as well.
He slid his hands under Boba’s ass and trailed them down teasingly.
Boba tightened his legs around his waist and curled his lips into a beckoning smile.
Luke returned the look, knowing his eyes reflected the same emotions spilling across space between them, unable to be contained.
Back on Chandrila, alive, mission accomplished, Luke found himself between an exasperated Leia, a thrilled toddler, a shocked Mand’alor, and an even more shocked husband discovering that yes, the New Republic legally recognized Mandalorian marriage vows.
He took Boba’s hand and squeezed it.
“I have a good feeling about this, riduur.”
Someone had a choking fit behind him. It was probably Han.