Master Apprentice Archive JAOA -- Apology Accepted Quick search:

Series: JAOA
Rating/Pairing: PG13 / Han, Anakin
Categories: AU, non Q/O, Drama with a touch of Angst
Archive: m_a, SWAL, the JAOA page
Summary: The resolution of a debate
Feedback: Always yes pretty please with chocolate covered jedi on top! ^_^

JAOA page: http://digitalmidnight.net/garden/jaoa.html

Disclaimer: George would be horrified. They're his. I'm just having fun. Larger snippet. ~_^

JAOA: Apology Accepted
Year of the Republic 25,014
by BlackRose, 2000

If he leaned back as far as he could, he'd found, and twisted the chair to one side, he had just enough room to stretch his legs across the small cockpit and plant his bootheels on a clear patch of console in front of the co-pilot's seat. Beyond the viewports the system was behind them, the expanse of darkness dotted only by the bright lights of stars stretching out, seemingly motionless in the steady speed of the drive below hyperspace. Slouching down further, Han clasped his hands behind his head, keeping his grin firmly in place. "Well?"

Anakin glared at him from beneath a frown. The older man had stripped off his tunic - a concession to cleanliness rather than any heat; the ship's interior temperature had raised tiny chill bumps across Anakin's arms and chest and Han resigned himself to rerouting a bit of the main power to the heating system. Grease and the inevitable dust that collected in any recycled air system were streaked across the other man's skin and Anakin wiped at it irritably with a bit of towling.

Clasping his hands tighter, Han crossed his feet at the ankles and determinedly ignored the flutter that had been churning in his stomach. His grin, he thought, must look a bit strained. "Well?" he repeated, prompting.

Anakin sighed, leaning back against the door frame with a grimace. "It's a good ship," he conceeded in disgust, tossing the rag onto the console beside Han's feet. The younger man's small crow of triumph earned him a glare. "Considering it's a nightmare," Anakin amended snappishly. "The entire hyperdrive's been gutted and replaced. You do know that, don't you?"

"Of course," Han said smuggly, relaxing. The confirmation, however grudgingly given, warmed away the tightness beneath his ribs. Reaching out, he patted the pilot's console affectionately. "She doesn't look it, but she's got speed. One of the reasons I picked her."

"And I suppose the smuggling compartments were the other reason?" Anakin asked acidly. "It's got them in the decks, the walls - there's one in the ceiling back there..."

Han waved a hand, dismissing the matter. "She's got legitimate cargo space too..."

Anakin's voice rose another notch. "We're neither freighters nor smugglers!"

"You never know when it might come in useful," Han protested.

"And those laser cannons aren't for show!"

"You want us defenseless?"

Anakin growled, throwing up his hands. "I do *not* want to know what that Corellian was using it for."

Han grinned, relaxing again as the older man's voice lost its sharp edge. "Calrissian's personal ship."

"What?" And there it was again, the same tone that had made him cringe as a boy and still made the muscles in his back tighten. "Han!"

The younger man held up his hands placatingly. "It was a fair deal! That voucher I won off of him said *any* ship on his lot. He had her docked in the middle of it - that's on the lot! It was legal!"

Anakin dragged a hand across his face, looking pained. "No wonder he didn't
have a civil word for us."

"He didn't like it," Han admitted. "But it *was* legal."

Sighing, the older man rubbed at the crease between his brows. "Sith... you make me old." Dropping his hand, Anakin leaned his head back, glaring at the ceiling as though it were to blame. "You were right. It is a good ship," he repeated at last, grudgingly.

Han smiled wryly. "Well, what do you know. Miracles never cease."

He hadn't meant for it to sound sour, but some of the tension must have made it through to his voice. Anakin looked up sharply, studying him. After a moment, the older man crossed his arms across his chest, hugging his hands tight beneath his elbows to warm them. His statement was sober. "Have I been that difficult to live with?"

Han looked away, out at the glittering stars, but he knew his silence alone was betraying. And lieing, to that voice, had never been something he had done well. He sighed, glancing back briefly, the smile slipping a little. "And then some."

Anakin let his breath out, his gaze dropping to his boots. "Han... I'm sorry."

The younger man shrugged. "Apology accepted. Look, it's nothing..."

Pushing himself away from the wall, Anakin stepped forward. Han swung his legs down, making room for the other man in the seat opposite, then stiffened slightly as Anakin instead leaned over him, hands coming down on the chair to either side of his shoulders, pinning him in place. The older man's smile had an affectionate shadow to it. "You're an awful liar, Han. I don't know why anyone ever believes those stories you spin."

"Now, wait a minute," Han began, but Anakin had leaned down further, the brush of his breath warm against Han's forehead and the younger man convulsively closed his eyes.

It had been months and somewhere, in quiet moments, a tiny voice had wondered if maybe... but no. It was still the same and all of it, every bittersweet pang, came flooding back in a single rush as Anakin's lips closed over his own. Han trembled, hands clenching, even as he opened to the kiss; the taste of spice rolled over him, carried on the slow caress of the other man's tongue like a little taste of divine torture.

It was there between them, where it had always been, burned through pathways so deep it could never be forgotten. It crackled just beneath his skin, in the meager spaces between their bodies, and it was all Han could do not to reach out and willingly plunge into it, even knowing he would be burned. He had promised himself; he used that unspoken promise like a prod, until, at last, he only let his hands rest lightly upon the hard line of the other man's shoulders, fingertips pushed into the soft plush of short blonde hair at the nape of his neck. It wasn't enough, but it was the only thing he could do safely.

Anakin was as generous as he had ever been, the kiss slow and thorough, wringing a low sound of pure greed from Han's throat. When the older man at length drew away, tongue laving a gentle caress across Han's lower lip, the younger man kept his eyes shut tight, unwilling to quite let go of the moment. Anakin's breath branded sweet scented fire across his cheek. "My
Han, I am sorry."

So many layers to that, and if he laughed he would dissolve into tears and so he did neither. Drawing a faltering breath, Han swallowed hard, his voice cracking softly. "Master..." But that hurt too and he had to clench his teeth to keep it all back, knowing it was echoing between them as plain as if he had spoken aloud. Forcing a small smile, he pulled his hands away from
the secure warmth of Anakin's shoulders. "Apology accepted."

Anakin shifted and Han sucked in his breath, holding it tight. The older man's lips, however, only ghosted softly across first one closed eyelid, then the other, in a silent caress. Then, after a moment's hesitation, they very deliberately descended to trace a light line down the bridge of Han's nose, ending with a final kiss at the very tip.

It drew a startled laugh from him, one which Anakin echoed softly. The warmth of that sound sparkled, bright and strong, warming him from the inside out until he could almost relax as the other man drew away, straightening. Anakin's hand brushed his cheek gently and Han let himself lean into the caress for a moment.

Anakin smiled softly, some of the sharp edged tension that had haunted him easing from the lines around his eyes. "My Han," he said, the words warm even as the shields descended once more, cutting them both off.

Han drew a slow breath, pushing the tension away. It was easier to retreat, letting the moment, once passed, be something unto itself.

Anakin seemed to feel it as well. The older man gave himself a small shake, half turning to look at the consoles of the cock-pit. Putting his hands on his hips, he sighed slightly. "Doesn't she have a name? Did Calrissian say?"

As a peace offering, it was a fine one. Han grinned, finding he didn't have to put much effort into it as he swept a proud hand over the console. "Falcon. The Millennium Falcon."

Anakin rolled his eyes, making Han chuckle. "Fine. I assume she's got hot water..."

"Recycled," Han replied, laughing at the older man's face. "But it's a big tank. Enough even for you."

"Don't bet on it," Anakin muttered, mock sourly. "I'm going to go clean up, then. You," he leveled a finger at Han firmly, "don't touch those jury rigged hyperdrive controls until I get back. I don't trust them."

"Yes, Master," Han replied meekly.

"And just leave it on the autopilot."

"Yes, Master."

Smiling, Anakin reached out to briefly ruffle his hair. "Good enough, then." Turning, he headed for the door, his grumbled complaints pitched to be heard but the easy tone of his voice making them a jest. "Falcon... What kind of name..."

Han laughed softly, but the laughter died after Anakin was out of ears reach. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He could, if he wanted, recreate each touch, the firm pressure of lips and every brush of tongue across his, the taste of spice still strong in his mouth. Sighing, he ran his thumb across his lips, deliberately disrupting the memory. "Solo," he told himself quietly, "you're an idiot."

But he had said the words so many times he didn't really have any feeling left for them. They were just words, and in the end he pushed himself to his feet, stretching the stiffness from his back. Grabbing up the discarded rag from the console, Han stuffed it into his belt, taking a last habitual glance at the steady controls of the autopilot. He might as well go and see if he could divert another power flow into the heating system before Anakin got out of his shower and started in on how he was freezing to death.

[...to next stage]