TTWDAJ:1
Mistaken Identity
by Eliza
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Rated: Dunno. Naked but no sex so……15?
Pairing: Han/Luke
Warnings: M/M, gay, yaoi, guys together.
Spoilers: Only for the films. If you haven't seen them then…uh…what are you doing here?
Notes: First in the "The Trouble With Dating A Jedi" series (about how there's another side to having a boyfriend who's strong in the force). Don't know when the next one'll be, or how long this'll run for…Great, huh?
Feedback: What, you want the boys to do this for nothing?
Disclaimer: These boys aren't mine, they're GL's. I just like to watch while they play nice.
Summary: In the middle of the night, an unexpected visitor disturbs Han's sleep...
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Han wasn't sure what had caused him to wake until the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
He must be cold. Sleeping without pajamas or a lover would do that to you.
He turned to find the blanket and froze. Someone else was in the room. And, unusually for a Corellian, let alone Han, his eyesight wouldn't adjust to show him who it was. He could just make out the body, but the head was a complete blur. He couldn't even make out the clothes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and then blinked to try and clear his head. It couldn't be Luke. Han may not be Force sensitive but Luke's power radiated from him like light, exuding a warmth and love that Han could feel as easily as Luke could feel him. But no: This person was cold, dark. It was almost as if there was nothing there, just a black void in time and space. Han shivered.
"Who are you?" he asked, uncertain whether or not he wanted to know.
"Can't you tell?"
That voice frightened him. It seemed like someone he should know but, at the same time, it sounded like a million voices whispering. And shouting. And yet it sounded like there was no voice at all.
Han swallowed hard. Was this someone he was supposed to know?
"How did you get in here?" Han said, frantically trying to work out some form of escape.
The person chuckled, and Han wished they hadn't. Then that eerily absent voice spoke again.
"Someone we both know willingly gave me the code."
Han sat up with more suddenness that he should have, considering this man was probably armed and all Han had for protection was bedclothes. But the thought of self-preservation was long gone. There was only one other than himself who knew the access code.
"Luke!"
The man seemed pleased until Han spoke again.
"Finally," he said, but Han cut him short.
"What've you done to him?"
The man stopped short and cocked his head.
"What?"
Han bristled.
"How did you get the code? What did you do to Luke?"
There was a moment of what sounded suspiciously like stunned silence. And then the man laughed. Han's blood ran cold. That laughter was inhuman, hollow, empty. Ice.
"I swear, if you've hurt him-"
The man held up a hand.
"Can't you see me, Han?"
Han was getting downright panicked now. Several thoughts ran through his mind, trying to help him find a suitable deterrent.
"I'm warning you…" Han began, trying to focus on the faceless being before him.
Another chuckle.
"What?"
Han tried to talk but could only gasp the first time.
"My…My boyfriend's a Jedi…"
It was feeble, he knew it, but he had fast run out of ideas, almost as though this presence was affecting his mind.
And the man only laughed at him. And, suddenly, he felt anger boiling his blood.
"You can laugh, Sith spawn," he spat, "but you don't know what he's capable of. If you hurt me he'll-"
Han's voice was suddenly cut off, and he couldn't move a muscle. His heart kicked against his ribs with bruising force and cold sweat broke out all over his body. The figure rose and slowly sashayed towards him.
"Are you playing with me?" the voice asked, amused, puzzled almost.
Han felt cold fear claw at his heart. He wasn't the one playing. This man was, like a felinoid with an injured bird. Luke must be incapacitated somehow not to come to his aid. It was blatantly obvious that this man's abilities equalled Luke's: Han knew he was under a Force-hold.
And, as the figure stood in front of the bed and moved the sheet from Han's body with a simple wave of his hand, it was clear what he wanted.
"Come on," the voice coaxed as fingers traced the line from Han's sternum to his navel. "You're playing, aren't you?"
Han felt the pressure release on his throat.
"Talk to me," the voice said.
Han took a moment to take a breath.
"I want to know where Luke Skywalker is."
It felt eerily like the person found that amusing.
"Alright," said the voice as fingers brushed a strand of hair behind Han's ear. "I'll play this game, Han."
Han was incredulous. Game? This man was a pure psychopath.
"What have you done to Luke Skywalker?"
More laughter.
"You're good at this, Han, I'll give you that."
The repeated use of his name, as though he were someone close, infuriated Han, and terrified him at the same time.
"Stop this: Enough. Where Is Luke Skywalker?"
The figure pushed his shoulder to make him lie down, straddled his naked thighs and laughed again.
"He's dead: I killed him."
For one second, pure silence roared in his ears as he stared up at the faceless man settled on his lap. Horror and anguish and pain all stood still as existence imploded. A hollow opened in the pit of his stomach and every source of light suddenly extinguished itself, enveloping him in utter, impenetrable, inescapable darkness. Time stood still, no movement, no breath, no heartbeat.
And then his heart twisted, tore, bled into his soul, screamed and died, all in that instant.
There were no words. His mouth refused to scream or shout or spit or bite. His body would not obey his command to attack or push or move to escape.
And then his eyelids fluttered, and tears that welled up warm and desperate spilled down his temples, wet his hair. His body trembled, cold, broken, and he still made no sound, paralysed with hatred and anger and shock and grief.
"It was so easy."
That voice, speaking again. He wanted to attack, destroy. But he could not find the strength, wanted to glimpse, just once, the face of the man who had ended the world, but the head was turned away even as he gloated.
"He didn't even know I was there. Fool. I ran him through with his own lightsaber."
All the strength had drained from Han's limbs, the will to fight back melted away. What good would it do? What was there left to live for?
"He never even…Hey…Han? Han, what…Han, what's wrong? Han you're crying!"
And then there was nothing but red. Rage and hatred and fear.
"What do you expect you son of a bitch?" Han said miserable, pausing only to choke back a sob. "You pathetic bastard! You killed him! He's dead! You killed him..!"
The last was an incredulous whispered sob, Han having no more strength to speak the words.
"Do you know who I am, Han?" the voice asked firmly, no longer offhand or nonchalant.
Han shook his heads, words momentarily beyond him.
"Han, look at me!"
Han tried to swing for him but the figure held up two blurred hands and caught his wrists, preventing the attack.
"You cowardly Greska!!" Han shouted.
Han launched into a series of Corellian curses, still struggling, but it was futile. The grip was too strong.
"Han, can't you see me? Don't you know me?"
"How can I know you!?" Han shouted. "You don't even have a face!!"
Han actually heard the man gulp.
"What?" the voice breathed.
"You've got no face! YOU'VE GOT NO FACE!!" Han screamed, resuming his struggles, perhaps trying to draw strength from the hatred in the words. "SHOW ME YOUR FACE YOU FUCKING COWARD!!"
"Shit," the voice whispered, and he let go of Han, but Han only covered his face. "Oh, shit. Han. Han look at me. Han. Please, Han."
Han lowered his hands as the man cradled his face.
"Look at me: Han, it's me, look!"
And suddenly, as though someone had flicked a switch, the sharp, angular black shoulders and slender frame came into focus. Bright blue eyes stared from beneath a dark blond fringe, full lips waited, absent, available and full of desperation.
"Luke!" Han managed to breathe before strong arms gathered him close to a warm body and held him tight. The void disappeared, replaced by the comforting security of his lover's warmth.
"Luke, Luke," he whispered over and over, crying now with relief into a firm shoulder, hands grasping at dark material, searching for something to anchor him to reality.
"Luke…"
"Han," Luke murmured wretchedly, soothing the older man's brow with kisses, smoothing his dark, silken hair from forehead to crown to nape, stroking the heaving back with a firm and loving palm.
"Oh, my Han, I'm so sorry…"
"Why?" Han whispered into the hollow of Luke's neck. "Why, why?"
"Shh," Luke offered. "Be still, my love. Let me take care of you."
"Tell me why," Han demanded through gritted teeth.
"Shh, I will, I will."
Another choked sob escaped him.
"Luke," he said again, holding onto the name and its owner for dear life, face buried against the refuge of Luke's throat.
"My poor Han," Luke whispered. "I'm so, so sorry…"
After a long time, when Han had quieted, and lay against Luke's shoulder unmoving, Luke turned his head and pressed his lips to Han's temple.
"Why?" Han whispered, unable to even begin an attempt at comprehension.
"Oh, Han," Luke murmured. "I thought…"
"What?" Han asked after a long silence, in a voice that was small, afraid. It tore Luke up to hear it.
"Han, you know I had to go to Cokoris. And I couldn't let anyone there know who I was.
Han shifted his arms tighter about Luke's body.
"I don't understand," he said.
"In order to look different, I just masked my presence, changed other people's perception of me so that I looked different or wrong or invisible. And when I came home, I kept myself masked because I wanted to watch you sleep. Lying there you looked so peaceful, so beautiful. I just wanted to watch you. When you woke up, I forgot to unmask."
Slowly, Han nodded. Luke continued.
"I thought you could see me. That's why I thought it was a game. I thought we were…roleplaying…or something…"
"I don't like roleplaying," Han answered.
"I know," Luke whispered. "I thought you'd changed your mind."
Han shook his head.
"Even if I did, I wouldn't choose rape by my lover's killer as a first choice. Would you?"
His tone was accusatory, full of pain.
"My, Han, I'm so sorry."
Luke pulled away enough to make Han look at him, then he kissed him.
Han melted against him, hands still bunched in the fabric of Luke's tunic, while Luke ran ran soothing fingertips through his hair, supporting him with his other arm .
There was a different kind of hunger behind the kiss: Luke could feel it; there was no lust, no passion, only desperate fear and the need to understand, believe.
I thought you were dead…Gently, Luke broke the kiss and stroked Han's face.
"I know that, my love," he whispered. "You don't have to explain yourself to me."
Han did not look at him, gasping, face averted, from the intensity of the kiss. Tenderly, Luke kissed him again, moulding Han's body against his own. But there was still no hint of arousal, only relief bordered by terror.
"Oh, Han," Luke murmured when they finally parted. "I didn't ever mean to frighten you."
Han gasped once, twice, and then frantically began tearing at the closures on Luke's tunic. Startled, Luke did nothing for a moment, then he attempted to take Han's hands in his own.
"Han?"
But Han wrenched his wrists away and continued with his desperate task. Finally grappling the tunic open, he shoved it off Luke's shoulders and his arms dove about Luke's waist while he pressed his mouth to all the skin he could reach.
"Han," Luke repeated softly, but Han ignored him.
Instead, quickly dissatisfied with Luke's menial state of undress, Han attempted the closures of Luke's trousers, too, but hasty with desperation and clumsy with haste, he fumbled time and again.
Luke grasped his wrists and held them, gently but firmly.
"Han," he said, repeating the older man's name until he looked into his eyes. "Let me."
Luke stood, moved away to remove his clothes, and the look on Han's face tore at his heart.
"Han, I'll be right back. I'm not going anywhere."
But seeing that there was no change to Han's expression, he removed his trousers and shorts as quickly as possible. Then he crouched on the floor before Han.
Han reached out and touched trembling fingertips to Luke's face, traced his brow, his jaw, his lips, watching the movements of his own fingers.
Softly, in what was almost a whisper, Han asked a question.
"You're here?"
Luke answered him.
"I'm here."
Han brushed the backs of his fingers against smooth skin.
"And you're okay?"
Luke nodded gently as Han's fingers slid through his hair.
"I'm okay."
Han's eyes found his for a moment, but then he looked away again. Slowly, Han trailed his fingers down Luke's neck, across the sharp angle of his collarbone.
"And…"
There was a long silence, broken only when Han sighed.
"And I'm…I'm safe?"
Luke smiled and rose until his face was level with Han's. He slid a hand onto the back of Han's neck.
"You're safe."
The kiss was slow and soft, but Luke could still feel Han trembling.
"You're cold?" asked Luke, resting his forehead against Han's.
Hazel eyes burned into blue ones for a moment, and then Han turned away, folded his legs back into the bed, pulled the sheet up over his body and turned onto his side, his back to Luke.
Luke knew this was not the harsh gesture it seemed – this was a silent request.
To comply with it, Luke stood and walked around the bed, then drew back the covers himself and settled in on his back.
After a moment, Han moved closer and slid an arm across Luke's stomach, tangled their legs, and rested his head on Luke's chest, listening to his heart.
Luke closed his arm around Han's shoulder and, with his other hand, he took Han's fingers in his own.
"I'm here," he whispered into Han's hair. "I'm okay. You're safe."
Han gave a small sigh, shifted minutely, then lay still. Luke heard a stray thought as Han drifted into unconsciousness, and he kissed the top of Han's head.
"I know, Han," he murmured, "I love you, too."