Luke struggling (either knowingly or unknowingly… that is up to you) with the comphet and how to be a guy’s guy until he gets his ass beat on Cloud City and just starts accepts things are the way they are.
The frigid cold of space pricked around Luke Skywalker as he huddled under a few spare blankets for warmth, his tunic unusually still wrapped around his torso. A constant rumble from the Millennium Falcon’s hyperdrive rattled the bed, occasionally causing Luke to open an eye to remind himself where he was: no longer home, no longer having a family, no more Ben.. alone in the vast emptiness of space, the threat of the Death Star looming in the distance after their heroic escape. Eyelashes fluttered before squeezing tight, forcing himself to let go of the pervading thoughts and embracing sleep. This was his last break, before reality would get even more surreal. He absentmindedly let his hand slip between the outer edges of his tunic, scratching his bare freckled chest for warmth and some companionship. Luke was used to an ever-constant heat throughout the day, even at night, when his aunt and uncle would heat up their quarters to counterbalance the chill of Tatooine evenings.
Space was too cold…
“I want to learn the ways of the Force and become a Jedi, like my father,” Luke had said with such weight just a short day ago, a tenor pitch dripping with confidence. It was the surest he’d ever felt in his nineteen years. Even now, with the surprising death of Ben Kenobi, the farmboy was insistent on continuing the quest toward his dream.
Luke imagined himself inside a temple of a sort, foreign yet familiar, as he gave in to slumber. The tunic was on the floor, near the edge of stone. His bare chest was still lean and slick with sweat, the newly formed ridges of muscle flexing as a bead of sweat dripped off the ridge of his nose and dove down onto his navel. Calloused hands wrapped around that lightsaber, his precious inheritance, holding it at his lap as he marveled at the sheer wonder it unleashed as the cyan core reflected off his widened eyes. The blade angled downward, humming and flashing as he carefully swung it left and right; his movements were clumsy at first, but after a swipe here and a stab there, it started to become more natural for him.
This was raw power.
And as he felt himself getting drunk off this newfound confidence, a voice suddenly laughed. It was one that he’d become all too familiar with over the last three days: Han. Luke frowned at the reaction, knowing immediately that it was at his expense. He turned to face his comrade, his friend, his rival – he wasn’t sure what to make of him yet – and watched the smuggler cross his arms, leaning against a wall.
“Look at you, hotshot,” Han said with an impish grin. “I’ve got to hand it to you, kid. You’ve come a long way since I picked you up on Tatooine.”
Luke smiled at the compliment, deactivating the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. “I’ve been practicing. Never know what we might come up against,” he said, replying to Han with a bravado as he crossed his arms in return, standing as upright as he could to try and match the towering height of his comrade.
“Still, that’s just a toy that you’re working with. Get too used to that thing and you’ll be unprepared when someone punches that pretty nose of yours,” Han’s hand pressed against Luke’s shoulder, the casual shove sending an involuntary jolt of heat straight down Luke’s spine. “Gotta work on other things, kid.”
“I’m ready for anything,” Luke grumbled back, not taking the demeaning comment with grace. He swatted the hand away, his skin burning where the smuggler had touched him. The sudden spike of adrenaline that coursed through him wasn’t the calmness of the Force; it was different, physical, primal. It felt physically heavy and aching in his own body. His proud smile quickly transformed into an irritated pout as he tried to shrug off the feeling; it bothered him how Han always had to do that, always had to put him down. Why couldn’t he just give a compliment without making a backhanded comment? Why wasn’t Luke ever enough? A sudden, agonizing tightness formed in his slender trousers as his mind raced at the thought, his frustration twisting into a hot, confusing flush.
“It’s just a joke,” Han said, shaking his head with a grin.
“I can take you,” Luke impulsively hissed, his voice dropping an octave to match Han’s own, somewhat regretting the words as they escaped his lips. But he wouldn’t back down – he had to prove himself, show his worth as a real man. A real man, like Han.
Han would never truly respect his affinity with the Force.. but if they were to go after one another, hand to hand, maybe he just might. His pulse hammered a frantic rhythm in his throat as he stepped forward. “Man to man,” he stated, followed by a lengthy pause.
“Then let’s find out,” Han replied with a natural cockiness, rushing toward Luke. They collapsed to the faded stone beneath them, grappling one another as Luke struggled to reclaim control after the surprise start.
Luke’s leanness from years of labor out in the scorching suns made him a surprisingly adept fighter, despite a lack of experience. Squirming out of the lock with a twist of his hips, Luke managed to wrap his thighs around Han, thrusting with all his weight and reclaiming control of the impromptu match. The sudden friction of their bodies grinding together sent a shockwave through Luke's system; it felt good in a way he couldn’t describe. All he knew was that he wanted more of it. Luke was brought back to reality when he heard Han cry out in shock on the floor, reacting to his own hubris in underestimating Luke’s abilities. That warmth between his legs grew as he dug in deeper, protruding from the dark tan of his trousers, eager to conquer.
“I told you I could win,” whispered Luke, an arrogant toothy grin spreading on his face as it was mere inches away from Han’s. “Maybe you’ve spent too much time with that blaster of yours. Should have been working on other things, huh?”
The smuggler grunted at the comment and lunged forth with all his might, flipping Luke onto his back and reclaiming the dominant position. Hands wrapped around Luke’s wrists and pinned them back over his sweaty mop of hair, securing his position over the youth.
“What? No!” Luke cried out in a shrill whine, a sound caught halfway between a protest and a gasp. He thrashed, his hips bucking upward instinctively in rebellion. Han sat over his lap and kept him secured in place, unable to move from the reinforced angle. This wasn’t fair… everything was going his way, why couldn’t he win? Why did Han have to win?
And yet, why did his body seem to crave more?
“Guess all that Force nonsense can only help you so much, huh,” Han said with breathless laugh, leaning against Luke and looking down at him. That domineering look in his eyes made Luke tremble, trying to find a second wind to escape. There had to be an escape… Han couldn’t win…
“Do you yield, kid?”
Luke grunted, kicking his legs as he wrapped his thighs around Han, trying to sit up and wiggle his way out of the hold. “No!” He shouted, twisting and turning. That heat down low was spiraling forward, trying to fight back. “I can do this!”
“Kid, you can’t. Give it up.”
“I can.. I can.. I… aah!”
A white flashing light overtook the dream, causing Luke’s eyes to glaze and flutter, fighting through distorted images until he caught himself in a low moan. He could feel his hips rising and falling repeatedly in the haze, moving with a natural intensity. Warmth surrounded his hand, low and sudden. The temple that surrounded him slowly blurred into the overhead light of the Falcon, replaced it, the bunks shuttering slightly with the returning hum of the hyperdrive as his backside fell against it.
Luke shuddered as he continually blinked, his hair slick with sweat. Everything around him felt warm, damp and overwhelming; a great contrast to the inescapable cold from before. His left hand peeled back the tangled blankets, finding his right hand still buried in his trousers, gripping tightly around his hardened penis. Shame overran his mind as he saw evidence of his release coating the fabric.
“Not again,” Luke trembled to himself as he felt himself soften in his grasp before pulling his hand out. This happened far too often.. as long as he could remember. And despite all that, he could barely remember the dream that caused this situation. Like always. He wiped off whatever remnants clung to his skin and slung his feet off the cot, standing to attention, looking around to make sure no one was around.
“Master Luke? I heard a noise and—”
“Get out of here, Threepio!” Luke hissed, turning away from the droid as he entered the crew quarters. His cheeks were completely scarlet, unable to hide his mortification. But after a quick beat, he had to correct himself. It wasn’t Threepio’s fault, after all. He turned his head over his shoulder and looked at the concerned droid, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Threepio. I’m fine. You didn’t hear anything. Go back to the Princess.”
“Oh. I see.”
The youth let out a sigh of relief as he heard the clanky footsteps leave the room. Luke peeled out of his stained trousers and ruined underpants with an intense urgency before someone else could catch him, replacing them with an extra pair of white briefs as he gingerly tried to clean off the remaining marks on the fabric.
Just hurry up, Luke. This couldn’t get any worse.
“Kid, her worshipfulness wanted me to make sure you were up. We’re coming up to Yavin,” the irritated voice of Han Solo entered the room from behind. Luke winced as he could hear the tension in the air shift from annoyance to humor. It, indeed, got worse. “Always sleep in your underwear?”
“Han, I can explain— I—”
The smuggler rolled his eyes, a disbelieving grin on his face as he took in the sight before turning back to the hall. With a wave of his hand, Han shook his head and stepped out. “Whatever, whatever. I don’t want to know. Just give us a little warning next time. Put on some pants, we’re dropping into orbit.”
Luke swallowed, embarrassed but relieved that the humiliation was finally over. He leaped over to the hall and locked the door shut, exhaling as he worked out that last stain. Adventure awaited.
Luke using the force to stimulate his own prostate
The day was spent and so was Luke Skywalker – physically, at least. His legs were sore from running through marsh swamps, back aching from the weight of his diminutive new instructor, and arms throbbing as the fifth day of his training came to an end. Beads of sweat dripped from his hair, sliding down onto his face and curving out past his cheeks.
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Luke hollered out to Artoo as he made his way back to his campsite. Exasperated steps marched through the muddy earth, stomping with irritation. The makeshift tent he slept in still stood, thank the Force, and lying down on some soft material sounded good after the long day of training (or scolding, as Luke thought it). “He’s crazy, Artoo, I’m telling you!”
Artoo beeped and whistled as Luke approached, watching curiously as the youth slung off his tanktop and began working on his boots. Luke nodded at the busy noises, as much to himself as he was to the droid. “I know, I know. Just... power down for a little while, will you? You've been going on for awhile now. I can keep watch. I'm supposed to be feeling the Force, remember?”
The droid made an unsure low whistle at Luke's abilities, or lack thereof, causing Luke to frown at the shared reluctance but smiled after a solid beat. Lights on the droid dimmed and as soon as they faded to black, Luke let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry, buddy, but I don’t get a lot of privacy out here. You need the rest, anyways,” Luke muttered, his calloused fingers clumsy as he unzipped his fatigues and let the fabric pool at his feet.
Tight white briefs clung to his lean figure, prominently encircling a frustrated arousal like a second skin. Luke casually slipped his right hand under the waistband, gripping himself for the sheer comfort and warmth before heading into the tent. After ensuring the tent was secure, with no possibility of peering strangers, Luke slipped off his underwear. Light brown curls dusted around the base of himself, a natural and unkempt crown, one of the few areas of his body that was blessed with hair. “Besides,” Luke grinned to himself, lying down on the blankets below him. “You aren’t the only one that needs some maintenance.” He didn’t bother to cover as his right hand reached down, feeling himself come to life, moaning softly as he felt his foreskin naturally retract.
Luke’s right hand gripped his penis with a firmness that came natural with the strength of his large grasp, relishing in the feeling. “Oh,” whined an intense whimper as he worked up and down along the length. The vein that ran alongside the top of the shaft pulsed with his movement, prominent and throbbing. “Just like that, Luke.”
Despite his attempts to work himself, the day's lessons echoed relentlessly against the walls of his skull, distracting him from the brief, desperate pleasure.; Yoda calling for him to reach out with the Force, lifting objects and feeling them through his mind.
Great potential, there was, mighty power.
Luke’s breath hitched, his eyes snapping open to stare at the ceiling of the tent and then at the intensity of his own grip, biting down on his lip. If the Force flowed through the trees, the mud, and the stones.. it flowed through him, too. An idea sparked in the back of his mind: reckless, taboo, and yet…
Maybe if I…
His hand gently moved away from his flushed desire, flexing his fingers. “If he wants the impossible.. then let’s see what is impossible,” he whispered to himself, daring himself to try something new. The blue of his eyes rolled back as eyelashes fluttered, extending his hand as if he were reaching for something… something deep.. something that he always wanted to—
“Aah!”
Hips bucked off the ground as he felt a sharp intensity push inside from behind, inserted somewhat painfully but unexpectedly gratifying. The feeling was full yet light; warm despite being indescribable. Light precum dripped down his swollen purple head, tantalizing him for more. Swallowing as he settled himself, Luke dared himself to continue.
The second stroke came just as painfully as the first, causing Luke to cry out again. He swore to himself, knowing he couldn’t dare be too loud, or it might wake up his mechanical little companion. With the gentle flow of his hand, the third stroke came much more slowly and he could feel himself wrap around the current. It felt so good; unlike anything he’d ever felt.
“Don’t lose it! Stay with it,” hissed Luke.
In and out, with the movement of his hand, the current slid within him. “Steady,” he whimpered, becoming a servant to his own desires, continuing the motion despite how overwhelming it was. He was doing the best he could to keep up with the sensation, feebly attempting to deny himself his body's plea for release. For someone as inexperienced as Luke, it only took a few more tries before...
"I can do this.. I can.. I- aah!"
Thick ropes of white splashed forward as Luke tried to stifle his shrill cries, hips bouncing with an abandon he did not know had in him. They landed on his belly as his free hand clutched his hair, in tandem with the momentum, before rushing down to grip himself, irresistibly spreading shockwaves and trying in futility to dull the sensations.
“Force!”
As the lost drop of his essence spilled down, Luke let out an arduous grunt, collapsing downward onto the blankets. Through blurred, tear-stung vision, Luke stared down at himself, his chest heaving as he watched his penis slowly wilting back to normal, spent alongside the rest of his body. Aftershocks still coiled around in him, causing him to tremble as he struggled to catch his breath. The corners of his mouth twitched into a wanton smirk, in awe of this great power he’d learned.. one that he would keep to himself.
Eyelashes fluttered down, and within seconds, Luke Skywalker fell to a deep slumber.
Note to self: You think you can go weeks without drawing dinluke because of RL obligations eating up your life and revising a fic featuring dinluke, but no, you're gonna reach a point where it's 3AM and Bruce Springsteen won't stop singing in your skull and you reallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreallyreally need to draw them in some capacity.
Anyway have some desperately 5AM sketches that got cleaned up at 10AM because I don't know how to sleep.
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