ARCHIVE: M/A, SWA-L please. Elsewhere by permission. Email
forwarding is OK.
CATEGORY: Non Q/O, Alternate-Universe
RATING: R
SPOILERS: None.
SUMMARY: Qui-Gon/Han Solo (Luke/Wedge). In which Qui-Gon Jinn
discovers that hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match
for a freighter pilot who knows what he wants.
FEEDBACK: Yes, any and all comments welcome.
DISCLAIMER: SW belongs to George Lucas, not me. I do not profit
in any way by this story.
TPM VIEWINGS AT THIS POSTING: 12
MORE FIC: http://members.tripod.com/~prillalar/fic/fic.html
AMBIANCE: Aqua. "Dr Jones, Jones, calling Dr Jones."
August 1999
For Holmes, who wanted Qui-Gon and Han to meet up. And make
out.
"Luke."
Please, yes, please, oh, yes, yes, yes.
"Luke."
Luke opened his eyes. No.
"Are you okay?" Wedge wrapped his arm around Luke's chest. "You
were groaning. I thought you were having a nightmare."
Not a nightmare. "I'm fine." The arm felt good. He stroked it.
Warm.
Leaning in, Wedge nipped Luke's shoulder. "One of those dreams
again?"
"Well..."
"What was it about?"
"I can't remember." He couldn't really. Sort of fuzzy.
About...tall...Qui-Gon Jinn...and... Oh. "Sorry."
"You do remember. You just don't want to." Turning on a lamp,
Wedge studied Luke. "Are you blushing?" He pinched Luke's
nipple. "What's so kinky about this dream?"
"Nothing."
Wedge rolled onto his back. "Is this a good time to mention
that our next-door neighbour keeps asking me to come in and see
his etchings?"
Luke sighed and tucked his arms behind his head. "Why do you
always manipulate me like this?"
"Because I'm so damn good at it. Now, spill, Jedi."
"All right, but turn the light out. And keep in mind that this
is a dream. Not real life. The situation is a little
unusual..."
Darkness fell. Wedge settled in with his chin on Luke's arm.
"Go on."
"So, Qui-Gon Jinn walks into a bar on Tatooine..."
Stooping under the low door, Qui-Gon scanned the tavern, his
eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. His ears were not so
swift to filter out the jazzy noise of the band, though, and he
frowned a little. An unavoidable consequence of growing older,
he supposed.
It was early evening and the room was only half full. Qui-Gon
approached the bar, stood between two drinkers. "Excuse me,
friends, I'm looking for passage--"
They both shook their heads and turned away before he could
finish. He tried further down the bar. Same thing. Three people
at a table. They waved him away. It was like he had some
embarrassing personal problem no one had ever told him about.
Well, as long as he was here. He went back to the counter and
caught the bartender's eye. "Whiskey."
"Don't mind if I do." Lounging against the bar beside him was a
man -- human, casual dress, not exactly desert garb, blaster in
a holster strapped to his thigh. The bartender set down two
glasses. "Thanks, friend," the man said and picked up the
glass.
"You're welcome, friend." Qui-Gon smiled his
this-is-not-a-nice-smile smile and paid for the drinks.
"To friendship." The man smiled back, an infuriating smile that
made Qui-Gon nearly forget thirty-two years of Jedi training
and paste him one. The man drank, finishing the whiskey before
Qui-Gon even had a chance to sip his. "Come on, I've got a
table in the back."
Qui-Gon didn't want to, but he sensed that this man was
probably his best chance for a lift off this sand-covered rock,
so he followed through the maze of tables to a shadowy corner
booth. The man sat against the wall, of course, where he had
the best view of the room. Well, the Force would protect
Qui-Gon's back. He slid onto the bench opposite and took a
drink. Awful stuff.
"Han Solo."
Qui-Gon took the outstretched hand and shook it firmly.
"Qui-Gon Jinn." The handshake continued. Great. They were
trapped in one of those alpha dominance moments. And his
fingers were beginning to ache. Briefly, he considered feigning
surprise at something in the room so they could both look and
drop the clasp at the same time. Instead, he just loosened his
grip. But Han should be wary if he thought he'd won.
"So, you're looking for a pilot, am I right?"
"Yes."
Han leaned back in the booth and put one hand behind his head.
"You found one. Where to?"
"Garqi." Not far, thank the living Force.
"Cargo?"
"I just need passage for myself."
Han picked up a glass from the table -- some sort of cheap ale,
judging by the smell -- and took a long drink. "Can do. Seven
thousand."
"I'll pay two." Haggling -- this was the fun part.
"I couldn't even take you to the next settlement for two. Make
it six, then. Because I like your face."
"That's still too high just for passage. Three then?"
Han sat upright. "That's just it. With no cargo, I have to
charge more to make money. I can go as low as five and a half."
Qui-Gon just looked at the pilot for a moment. "I'm sure a
bright young man like yourself won't have any trouble finding a
cargo of some sort on such short notice." He sipped his
whiskey. "Three and a half."
"Maybe I can. But I don't know that yet. Five."
"Four then. If you can't meet that, I'll find another pilot."
"You're welcome to try." Han grinned.
Qui-Gon pondered. The behaviour of the other patrons had been
very odd. It was possible no one else would be willing to even
discuss it. "Four and half."
"You buy the next round and you've got yourself a ship." Han
held out his hand again and this time Qui-Gon slapped it, not
wanting to engage in another wrist-wrestle. Waving at a server,
Han signalled for another jug of ale.
"Shouldn't we be going?" Qui-Gon was half-way out of the booth.
"Sit down and relax. We can't leave until tomorrow anyway.
That's when my co-pilot gets back." Han laughed. "He's on some
sort of ritual journey into the desert. Thinks he can see
visions. I told him if the ale here didn't give him visions,
the sun wasn't going to make it through his thick head either."
"I'll have to arrange accommodations, then." Qui-Gon had the
time to spare, true, but it was very annoying.
"You can stay on the Falcon."
Qui-Gon nodded his thanks. "Is there something going on here?
No one else would talk to me, let alone discuss passage."
"Oh, that." Han poured out the rest of the ale and drained his
glass. "Well, there have been reports of several hijackings in
this area recently. They won't deal with anyone they don't know
because they're afraid."
"And you're not?"
"I think I'm a pretty good judge of character." Han looked
Qui-Gon up and down, then leaned in close. "And the reports of
the hijacking may have been...exaggerated. A little."
"Exaggerated." Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows.
"You know how people talk." The ale arrived and Han poured out
for both of them. "Just yesterday, I was here playing sabac..."
Han really was a good story teller. And after the first glass,
the ale seemed to improve. Qui-Gon countered with a tale of his
own about the last time he had been to Malastare and someone
had mistaken him for a local wrestler.
They killed the pitcher between them, spinning yarns, telling
jokes. They argued over the best way to get rid of mynocks.
"Just dab a little mercury on them." Han waved his hands.
"Poof. They shrivel up."
"Nonsense. They love mercury. If your power couplings are
properly shielded in the first place, you won't have
mynocks." Qui-Gon banged his glass down to make the point.
"This from someone who doesn't even have a ship?" Han pointed
his finger at Qui-Gon's nose. "Let me tell you--"
"You're both wrong." It was a Chagrian at the next table over.
"Just spray them with salt water."
They stared at the Chagrian, then leaned in towards each other
and laughed, their knees bumping under the table.
"C'mon, Qui-Gon." Han stood. Qui-Gon followed suit, then turned
to the Chagrian.
"We bow to your superior wisdom," Qui-Gon said and suited his
actions to his words. Han was a beat behind, but he made up for
it with a flourish. Then they made their way out of the tavern,
ducking in unison when they came to the door.
The air was cool. Han put his arm around Qui-Gon's waist and
Qui-Gon draped his own arm over Han's shoulders. They laughed
through the night to where Han's ship was berthed. Han fiddled
with the door mechanism.
"Wait, Han. Shouldn't we check for mynocks first?"
Han looked up and grinned. "I don't have any salt water. Do you
think ale would work?"
"They might get drunk and fall off."
The ramp clanged down and they went aboard. Han spread his arms
wide. "This is the Millennium Falcon. Beautiful, isn't she?"
She was dingy, dark, and probably jury-rigged. "Beautiful."
Han headed off down a corridor. "I'll show you the room."
Already? Qui-Gon followed. "It's too early to sleep."
"We don't have to sleep."
A door swished open and they stepped inside. It was a mess.
This wasn't the passenger's quarters.
Han unstrapped his blaster and set it down, then turned and
faced Qui-Gon. "I do like your face." He pulled off his shirt.
What? "And your neck. And your chest."
Qui-Gon found himself with his back to the wall, Han's mouth on
his neck, Han's hands on his chest. Oh. It was quite nice,
actually. He reached up and rubbed Han's back, touched his hip.
Then Han moved away. "Take your shirt off."
Untucking his tunic, Qui-Gon yanked it over his head. "I'm not
drunk, you know."
Han smiled, that same first infuriating smile. "I'm not drunk
either." One boot off, then the next.
Qui-Gon seemed to be losing his dignity. How to get it back?
"And I'm a Jedi Knight, you know." He unhooked the lightsaber
from his belt and put it aside.
Pants halfway down to his knees, Han looked up at him. "You
don't say."
"Is it that obvious?" Maybe that's why no one would talk to
him, Qui-Gon thought as he struggled with his boots and
leggings.
"Let's just say the Force is strong with you." Han stepped near
and slid his hand down Qui-Gon's breastbone. "Among other
things. Did I say I liked your chest?"
Qui-Gon didn't answer, just tasted the salty skin at the base
of Han's neck. They stood close together, bodies touching here
and there, but lightly, not pressing. Han smelled of alcohol
and smoke and sweat. Qui-Gon's hands moved and so did Han's and
all the friction drove Qui-Gon far past "quite nice" and into
something best expressed with fire imagery if he could only
think but he couldn't so he bit Han's shoulder instead.
Han groaned a little at the pressure. "Bed."
"Yes." Qui-Gon grabbed Han and tossed him bodily onto the
mattress so swiftly Han only yelled when he was bouncing up for
the second time. Pulling the thong from his head, Qui-Gon shook
his hair free. Then he pounced.
Han was laughing as they rolled together, wrestling until
Qui-Gon came out on top and took the laugh into his kiss. Limbs
against limbs, muscle and sinew, blood and bone, they moved
together. Qui-Gon thought of friction, of fire, of heat, of
energy. Then he remembered the power couplings and had to throw
his own head back and laugh.
"You're a lot of fun," Han said. "Here's what we're going to
do." He reached out and opened a drawer.
"And?" Wedge's fingers were tight around Luke's arm.
"There is no and. You woke me up, remember? Just at the good
part."
"Then tell me what you think would happen. I think Han was
going to fuck Qui-Gon and fuck him good." Wedge trailed his
hand down Luke's chest. "I know what those Jedi-types like."
"Yeah, that's sort of what I think would happen." Reaching out,
Luke tangled his fingers in Wedge's hair.
"So, Sir Sublimation, have these dreams about your sister's
boyfriend often?"
Good thing it was still dark. "Uh...no. Are you jealous?"
Wedge chuckled. "I ought to be but actually I'm just very
turned on." He moved his hand again. "And so are you, it
seems."
Luke traced Wedge's cheekbone with his thumb. "Maybe."
"Come on, then, Skywalker. I'll fuck you silly. But if you yell
out Han's name..."
"You're going to tell him I had a sex dream about him?"
"No."
"Good." Luke turned and slid until they were face to face,
mouths almost touching when they spoke.
"I'll tell Leia." Wedge started to kiss the corner of Luke's
mouth, teasing at it with his tongue.
"Do that and you'll suffer the Jedi Tickle Torture."
"I don't fear that as much as I fear the Jedi Excessive Talking
During Sex Torture."
Luke nuzzled at Wedge's nose. "I don't talk too much. I hardly
talk at all."
Wedge put his arm around Luke's waist and pulled him close.
"Shut up, Luke."
Luke shut up. Wedge fucked him silly. It was quite nice,
actually.
F I N I S
Do you concur with Luke and Wedge's theory or do you have your
own ideas about what Han and Qui-Gon might do?
prillalar@geocities.com
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