Part 8 
Standard disclaimers. 
NC-17, slash (male/male) 


"I need advice." 

Han looked up from the foodsynth.  It was the most fiendishly complex 
he'd ever worked with, and he wasn't about to take any chances by 
serving bad food.  No reason to cause any anger he could avoid. 
Luke had been mercurial these last few days.  At times Han thought 
the Princess was good, making him kinder to everyone.  At other 
imes, he knew he was getting the brunt of the temper Vengar dared 
not unleash on her. 

The princess' meal had been a tricky bit of programming, and he was 
tired of quarrelling with the device.  The pensive look on Luke's 
face was very new.  He punched in something very simple.  "Since 
when do you take advice from me?"  The words came out too sharply. 

"Since I need it.  You're my personal aide.  Advice comes in the job 
description."  Steel under the words now.  "I need advice about 
Leia." 

Han cocked an eyebrow at him.  "Leia?" 

"I'm having trouble with my seduction technique.  What do you know 
about women?" 

Han was wise enough not to let fly the burst of laughter that welled 
up in him.  "Enough.  I know enough.  Let's eat.  Tell me where you 
are and I'll tell you where to go from there."  He set two plates on 
the small table.  The steaks were blood rare, just the way Luke 
preferred them, and he'd managed to coax the proper vegetables out of 
the machinery as well. 

"Right now, she lets me touch her nonsexually.  She's let me start 
a healing bond with her.  But when I talk, it feels like I'm 
babbling.  How do I get from rubbing her temples to take away her 
headache to kissing her?" 

"You're doing fine.  Don't rush things."  He thought for a moment 
and then dove in.  "Practice on me if you need to."  Stars, he hated 
bargaining almost as much as he hated begging.  He knew Luke could 
and would take anything he wanted, but that the young Sith took great 
delight in having his permission for something first. 

"Practice what?"  The changeable eyes, blue instead of the usual 
storm grey, fixed on him intently. 

"Your small talk.  Your temple rubs.  Anything you need to." 

"Anything?"  The raised eybrow spoke volumes.  "And what, pray tell, 
might I need to practice under the 'anything' category?" 

Knowing he would pay heavily for his next words, Han chose them very 
carefully.  "You're rough.  She's a tiny, fragile woman, not a big 
guy like me.  You could hurt her.  Have you ever had a woman before?" 

"Of course."  The reply was almost shocked.  "One of my regulars at 
Levant's was a woman, and Arnowa used to request me as her bonus when 
she'd made double her weekly quota.  She was popular, so she doubled 
it often." 

"Which one was she?" Han almost regretted asking. 

"The Askjian.  You turned her down early." 

"See?  Small talk."  The first smile Luke had seen since Tzalna found 
its way on Han's face, but was just as quickly gone.  "Although, with 
the Princess you have a more acceptable common history.  Bring up 
something funny from the last Senate session.  Make sure she'll think 
it's funny too.  Compliment her, but make it sincere." 

"Poetry?" 

"Save that for later. Make sure it's good stuff, not cheap limericks." 

Luke cuffed him lightly.  "Don't talk with your mouth full." 

"Sorry." 

The slender fingers bridged the gap again, to twist in the cropped 
dark hair, and pull the spacer closer.  For the first time, Luke 
kissed him. 

The kiss spoke of many things: of sorrow for what might have been, 
of power and control, and astonishingly of desire.  Desire that bound 
them, desire that frightened the younger man enough that he had to 
push it away and make it safer through pain and anger. 

Han read most of the messages, and he recognized his Luke.  Cursing 
himself for a dozen kinds of fool, he returned the kiss, letting his 
tongue play gently over the lips and teeth. 

"To bed.  Now."  Luke's voice was rougher with need than Han had 
ever heard it.  Before, there had always been the cold control, the 
anger, the icy hate.  Now, there was only need and desire.  "Show me 
what it should be like." 

"First, slow is your key word."  The big hands moved gently over the 
small man, opening the black tunic, and sliding it off while knowing 
lips never let go of his mouth.  "Let her do anything she wants, and 
anything you can convince her is her idea."  Any tenderness he could 
demonstrate and thus ensure for the Princess would make this worth 
it.  The selfish part of his mind reminded him that this was the same 
man who had given him the half-healed bruises and the cracked ribs. 
The voice of idealism was slightly stronger, but both were being 
over-ridden by his body. 

"Shut up and show me!"  The kiss was rougher, and needier, than the 
first.  Luke rubbed himself against the hands that were undressing 
him, basking in a willing touch.  This was nice, being handled by 
someone who desired him and wasn't afraid for a change.  Almost 
inaudibly, he said "I want you to make love to me like I should to her." 

Finally, after a deliberately slow stripping, Han pulled them both to 
sit on the edge of the bed.  His hands moved in light circles over 
the smooth chest, teasing the large nipples until they stood erect. 
Luke shuddered under his touch, arching into it, wordlessly asking 
for more, and found the warm wetness of a tongue even more pleasant. 
Gently, sharp teeth closed and worried at it until he was gasping and 
pushing away. 

"Too much.  Oversensitive." 

"Remember that.  And remember when you move lower, like this." 
Knowing that lingering on the navel would be trouble, Han continued 
working his way down. 

"Arnowa taught me all about that.  She said I was better than most 
men and half the women she knew.  Aaah.  Stay there."  He urged the 
slow strokes to become deeper, but Han persisted in teasing him with 
a tongue that felt like it was everywhere at once. 

This was the Luke he remembered, the memory he'd looked at so often 
it was worn along the creases.  There was nothing of evil here, just 
a very young man, almost desperate for release.  He let the 
half-smile that had charmed lovers from one end of the galaxy to the 
other hit Luke with full force. 

"Most of all, make her climax before you do.  Three or four times, 
if you can."  He returned his full attention to his work, relenting 
on the teasing and becoming serious.  Amazing how much more fun this 
was when he wasn't being forced into it.  And how much easier it was 
to swallow without a Force-choke around his throat. 

He moved back up, and took the initiative in kissing Luke.  The 
sensual, well-trained body still remembered all it had learned.  He 
was a pleasure to kiss, and even  better when he started the kiss. 
"Kiss her.  A lot.  Start with that." 

"Will you shut up?  I don't need the lecture.  Just show me!" 

"You sure?" 

The ice began to creep back now that the first rush of need was past. 
"One more word, and you'll regret it." 

There was nothing to say, so Han kissed him again, and eased him to 
lie on his back.  Luke planted his feet on the mattress and put a 
pillow under the top of his hips to tilt them up.  Han knew where the 
lubricant was, seldom used though it was, and prepared himself. 
Fingers still slick, he made a manual reconnaissance first, making 
sure Luke was relaxed enough to accomodate him. 

The first thrust was short, just barely penetrating.  He let Luke 
adjust, feel him, and then entered to the hilt, slowly.  He moved 
gently at first, then in time with the other man.  As the matching 
pushes became more insistant, he sped up.  He slid a hand between 
their bodies, and rubbed the renewed erection.  To be twenty again, 
he thought, a bit enviously, and kissed Luke again. 

At the entrance of his tongue, the matching thrusts became even more 
vigorous.  He cursed Imperial efficiency in the matter of facial 
depilation.  He wanted to feel that first, soft stubble against his 
chest, and scrape the boy's neck with his own.  He buried his face in 
Luke's neck, running light teeth along the rapidly pulsing vein.  It 
was too much for the younger man, and wet warmth spilled across his 
hand and both their stomachs. 

Knowing he had more than satisfied, Han took three, last, deep 
strokes, and climaxed.  Deliberately disobeying his last orders, he 
whispered "Luke," in the other's ear, tasting the name as if for the 
first time.  He pulled out, and moved a little bit away, to give them 
both some air. 

A drowsy, pleased moment hung between them, lengthening.  For a time, 
they were no longer Sith Lord and body servant, but almost equals. 
The moment lengthened, when Luke rolled sleepily into Han's arms, and 
pillowed his head on the broad chest with a small sigh. 

Only the Corellian-sharp ears let him hear the word under the sigh. 
As his Luke snuggled into his chest, breathing evenly, Han held the 
thought that the last word before sleep had been his name.