You've always cared for Luke from afar. Now, he's hurt. You've been waiting in the wings and finally feel brave enough to try to tell him how you feel. This is the moment. Can you be brave? Will he? Unfortunately, the anticipation is never resolved..
It took everything in you to not wait outside the medbay when you heard the news: LUKE SKYWALKER was injured, suffering from severe hypothermia after being attacked by one of those ice creatures while out on patrol, his face lacerated. Your heart dropped at the news, but as a simple transport pilot, you knew a private audience was reserved to those much closer to him. Instead, you decided to wait in the hall outside of his quarters.
The waiting became much more manageable once word arrived that he was going to survive his ordeal. Still, anticipation and dread approached as time passed – what about that dashing, boyish face of his? Would it be different? Would he be alright? Would he tell anyone if he wasn’t?
“Hey,” a weak and muffled tenor voice said from behind. You jumped, realizing instantly the familiarity of it. “Whoa! Didn’t mean to startle you. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be waiting for me.”
“Luke!” The name escapes you in a rush as you throw your arms around him. He catches you, but a sharp, hissed intake of breath slips past his lips, his shoulders recoiling as his body protests the sudden pressure on his bruised ribs. You let go, awkwardly dusting your uniform in apologetic realization. “Sorry. I was worried about you.”
“It’s… nice to know so many people care,” Luke replied with a soft half smirk. He was clad in just a medical tunic, a stark white layered around his waist, arms crossed as he propped himself against the wall. A lingering silence passed and then he nodded, turning to open the door to his room. He stopped and looked at it and then back to you. “Guess I put everyone through the wringer, huh? You can come in, if you want. Don’t expect much though- between an ice creature, the cold, and a bacta tank, I’m beat.”
Of course, you wordlessly follow.
“Sorry about the mess, I haven’t had time to tidy things up.”
His room had a sterility to it, as if it had been barely lived in, though there were stray socks here and there and a discarded fatigue lounging in a chair in the corner. You knelt and picked up the articles for him, tossing them to the nearby bin. He grinned in thanks.
“So… how bad is it? The face, I mean?” Luke said, trying to sound nonchalant as he gave you his profile, his hand rubbing the groove in his chin, eyes anxiously racing to you and then back to the wall. “Han said it looked fine. But it is all off to me. I don’t know what to think.”
The truth was Luke did look different. There was no denying that; the shape of his nose was altered from his ordeal, slightly crushed and turned up. Faint scars danced up from the top of his swollen lip to his nostril, already starting to heal and setting in place. It made his sweet eyes more pronounced, the blue of it all melting you in.
“Considering what you’ve been through, you don’t look fine. You look great,” you say to him, watching a flush creep up his cheeks as he sheepishly turned his head. You approach him and inspect his face more closely; he didn’t pull away. “If you ask me, it gives you character. I’ve always liked a good scar. Makes you look like a fighter. Manly.”
Without thinking, your hand was on his jaw, your thumb tracing the smooth-shaven skin, careful not to touch the tender tissue. Luke looked at you, his eyes wide with curiosity before putting his hand, so large and pronounced, overs yours and patting it lightly.
“Manly! Ha, that’s a first,” he grinned, a dorky flash of teeth beaming at you with a sudden gust of confidence. There was a strange tension as your flesh continued to press against his, a lingering silence that lasted a beat too long.
Clearing his throat, the young Rebel turned away to break the spell, opening his dresser to prepare a change of clothes. “Thanks for being honest. Don’t worry, I’ll get used to it.”
It surprised you as you saw his hands grip the loose fabric holding his tunic together, those long fingers unfastening the material. You gasped as the tunic pooled down to his ankles a moment later, standing there in just tight white briefs. Secretly, you’d always tried to sneak a look at him in the communal refreshers. Those briefs were unique to him, unlike the standard black and grey compression shorts of the other pilots. None of this was new to you… but seeing him like this, up close, nonchalant and comfortable in a space with just the two of you was almost enough to make you burst.
“I won’t be volunteering for any recon missions for a while, I can promise you that,” Luke said, pacing around to the other side of the room in search of a missing belt. Veins prominently ran from the pit of his arms down to the wrist, branching out and tensing with each flex he made. The rebel had no clue how striking he looked in the light; the modest white fabric did little to hide the heavy, shifting contour of his frame, drawing your eyes down to the soft yet thick length resting snugly against his thigh.
“Hey, Luke?”
“Yeah?”
“You know… has anyone ever told you that you’ve got a great physique?”
His eyes fluttered, startled from the statement. Luke stood still, looking down at himself and studying every visible aspect of his body, almost as if looking at it for the first time. “Uh, thanks,” he mumbled somewhat awkwardly and with a hint of pride, flexing his arm with an amused expression. “I can’t say anyone has.”
You stepped forward and grabbed his hand. The pulse in his wrist accelerated instantly at the touch, his gaze dropping down to the union of hands and back to your eyes. “Well, I want you to know that I do,” you said to him, your free hand daring to comb through the mix of dark blonde and light brunette tufts of unkempt hair. “I really do.”
“I.. um..”
You leaned closer to him; as you did, you could feel an instant shift in him. The soft white material strained as blood pooled down into that weighted flesh of his, springing life into an emboldened erection. “Someone should’ve let you know a long time ago,” you say, your fingers in his hair lowering down to the base of his neck and wrapping around it. You lean forward, watching his eyes close shut with a tentative swallow, his lips parting instinctively.
There was no resistance. You leaned forward to make your mark—
A blaring siren went off, breaking the quiet; the two of you snapped your heads to the door and then back at each other in realization: The Empire had found them.
Luke broke away from the intimate moment and raced for his fatigues, nearly leaping into them; it brought a breathless, amused smile to your lips as you watched him awkwardly struggle to zip the fatigue trousers over the rigid, unresolved tent. The disappointment in the room was palpable, but duty called, and you knew you’d have to ready yourself, too. Why did the timing always have to be so atrocious?
“My suit is back with 2-1B,” Luke hissed to himself, before looking back over to you. “Um, thanks for checking in on me. I really appreciate it. Let’s.. let’s talk after this. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ve… uh… I’ve got to go get my gear.”
You chuckled, equally frustrated and amused at the situation. There wasn’t much more to do than to let the moment go and pray there would be another day to act. “Before you go, Luke,” you say, watching him as he scrambled out the door, pausing to look back over his shoulder. “May the Force be with you. Be safe out there.. hotshot.”
A familiar half-smirk returned to Luke’s face, nodding. “You, too,” he breathed, leaving you alone in his quarters, your heart pounding as you wondered what would happen next.
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.
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