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masterlukessaber · 9 months

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YES.

as promised, the first one-shot i’ve written for this blog! let me know what you think. minors dni, etc.

Set just after the end of The Empire Strikes Back.

who says you cannot hold the moon in your hand?

~~~~~~

He won’t tell you what happened, exactly. No one will. All you know is that the Princess and Governor Calrissian found him clinging for dear life to the antenna at the bottom of Cloud City: bruised, bleeding, soaked in sweat…and missing his right hand.

It had been promptly replaced, of course, on the Alliance’s medical frigate. An Antilles BioGen L-980, one of the finest cybernetics on the market, now occupies the end of his wrist. To the average observer it looks no different than his remaining flesh hand; it serves all the same functions as the appendage he’s lost, thanks to the implanted neurochip. But every time he gazes on it when he thinks you aren’t looking, flexes the fingers and frowns, you know he feels it. The phantom pain, the sense of “othering,” the clear demarcation of his life into before and after. You know of course that he’s still Luke Skywalker, the Rebellion hero and the man you love-but something in him has changed fundamentally since that rescue, and that cybernetic hand is a constant reminder.

You can’t magically heal his anger or sadness. You can’t force him to tell you everything he’s done since you parted on Hoth. If the Force is with the Rebellion, there will be plenty of time for that in the future. But what you can do is help him forget for a few precious hours. To remind him that he is loved, no matter what scars or wounds he bears.

And where better to start than the hand?

You begin very slowly, there in the privacy of his quarters: it seems the most natural thing in the galaxy to pick up his artificial hand and methodically kiss every fingertip. The palm follows the fingers, right over his lifeline. You kiss just hard enough to be felt, but softly enough to entice. Under your lips whirr machinery where once was bone and muscle, and the synth skin isn’t quite as warm as real flesh…but you find you don’t really care.

If Luke’s face is any indication, though, he certainly does. He watches your motions apprehensively, brows knit over those clear blue eyes. “You don’t have to do this,” he protests.

“But I want to,” you reply, already moving on to his wrist.

“Love…” he cuts himself off and sighs-partly out of frustration, partly because your lips are resting on the tattooing pulse of his forearm. “I just…I’d rather not think about it.”

“But you do. I know you do.” Pausing in your ministrations, you sit back on the bed and regard him thoughtfully-as thoughtfully as two people in their military undergarments (tank tops and briefs) can hold eye contact. “Luke, I promise you I’m not repulsed by your hand. Oh, it upset me at first, knowing how much pain you were in. But now it’s…just a hand.” You massage it gently. “It’s part of you. And I don’t pick and choose the parts I love.”

He sighs again, curling his cybernetic fingers around yours. “I know. And sometimes I almost believe it. But when I catch myself looking at it for too long, or my grip is too tight, it all comes flooding back.”

“…Will you ever tell me? How it happened, I mean?”

Luke’s eyes are trained on you, but in that moment he’s looking beyond you to somewhere dark. Cold. “Someday. But not now,” he murmurs. His left hand sweeps a few tendrils of hair from your face. “I don’t want to think about it now.”

You smile and lift his right hand to your lips again, a motion that causes pink to bloom in his cheeks. “Well, what do you want, Luke?” you ask, as if the desire wasn’t already swimming in your veins.

Swallowing in a dry throat, muscles tensing, he responds in a low voice: “I want to touch you.”

There’s another part to that request which remains unspoken, but you understand it nonetheless. Keeping a sure grip on the mechno-hand, you press it to your cheek. “Like this?” you inquire. He dips his chin in a nod.

Thus encouraged, you guide the hand from your face to your collarbone. “And this?” you prompt. Another nod, accompanied by a rather breathy “yes.”

And Maker, the shuddering exhale that leaves him when the synth flesh meets your clothed breast. “Is this all right?” you manage, voice wavering as he hesitantly squeezes.

Luke dispenses with words then, leaning forward and kissing you with a measured, smoldering hunger. You groan a little in surprise, pressing your mouth eagerly to his and throwing your arms around his toned shoulders. In doing so, of course, you let go of his cybernetic…and almost of its own accord, it wanders lower.

A feather light touch swipes across your underwear, and you break the kiss with a squeak. Two pairs of eyes blown to black meet, two pairs of lips slightly parted pant, and Luke jerks his hand away as if he’s been burned. “Sorry,” he mutters. “ ‘M sorry. I thought…”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you repeat, nuzzling him briefly. Flesh fingers find mechno, intertwine in reassurance.

His shoulders visibly relax. “Please, let me take care of you,” he entreats.

“With this hand?”

“Yeah. Wanna fuck you with it. Wanna watch you come on it,” he breathes, the faint blush now vivid twin firespots.

“Oh, starboy…” you coo, knowing how much effort those words demanded from him. “I want your beautiful fingers in me so, so much.”

It’s always a clumsy affair, wriggling out of standard-issue Alliance briefs (the least sexy garment in this or any galaxy). Yet you manage, and Luke can’t hold back a moan when you recline and part your legs to show him how wet you already are. “Fuck, is that all for me?” he says in wonder, crawling closer.

“Only for you,” you promise, taking his mechno-hand in yours once more. With patience and affection you clasp it for a heartbeat or two; then, at long last, you lead him to the valley of your cunt, the tips of his middle and index rubbing the dew before they slip inside.

This hand has never explored you before, but it knows just what to do. Those long thick fingers crook against your walls, caressing the warm gripping heat as they pump in a steady rhythm. You throw your head back on the pillow and whine, fire already building in your lower belly. “Yes, yes, darling boy, fuck me just like that,” you beg. “Oh Luke, I missed you.”

“Missed you too,” he groans, completely devoted to his task. He huffs your name, followed by a curse you think may be Huttese. “You’re so tight for me, fuck. Are you sure I’m not-“

“No! N-no, you’re fine.” Far from the cybernetics battering you, they apply just the right amount of pressure, of intensity. You lift your head then to look at him, your gorgeous boy, thrusting his fingers into your pussy with a furrowed brow and teeth set into his bottom lip. His flesh hand steadies him, his nostrils flare, a thin sheen of sweat glimmers. And-ah, there it is, his cock straining and leaving a damp stain on his own briefs. The very idea that this foreign intruder to his body is bringing you such pleasure shocks and arouses him all at once. He knows you mean it, these exclamations of joy, your eyes rolling back, your hips bucking to meet the busily working machine with truly obscene squelching noises. It’s not enough to fully eradicate the darkness preying on the edges of his mind, but it lights a tiny candle of hope. And he’s more than willing to accept it.

“Luke! Oh Luke, don’t stop,” you whimper as he twists his wrist, searching for that special spot.

He grins then, genuinely, for the first time in Force knows how long. “Is that good, baby?” he questions rhetorically.

“Ah-aah, you feel so…” Your caravan of thought derails as he locates the spongy patch high up in your secret place and deftly presses. Uttering a thin, pitchy cry, your back arches and your own hands grip the sheets. “Fuck! Oh Maker, oh…”

He grunts with the exertion and in satisfaction too, teeth gritted now, fully hard in his briefs like an overexcited teenager. “A-are you close?” he asks hoarsely.

“Uh-huh” is all you can manage as you rapidly ascend the dizzying heights, your world shrinking to the motion of his hand and the sound of his voice.

“Let go,” Luke urges, his order trembling beyond his control. Control is about to leave this room entirely. “Come for me, sweet girl. Soak my fuckin’ hand, I want to see it.”

And those words might have been sufficient on their own, but when he brings his thumb to your swollen clit and forms the tiny rapid-fire circles that never fail to light up every synapse…that’s it. You can’t hold out any longer, and with a choked sob you break, spiraling off into a void where no feeling exists but bliss, and no Galactic Empire can ever harm you.

You’re only faintly aware of Luke withdrawing his fingers as you sprawl across the mattress, heart pounding and breathing harsh. The sheets rustle as he lays himself next to you, a lightness in his face that hadn’t been there before. “Look,” he remarks, holding up his cybernetic for your inspection. Gleaming on the two fingers he’d just used, trickling down his wrist and forearm all the way to the bend of his elbow, your spend proves you heeded him well. A half-smile quirks one corner of his mouth. “So I guess you don’t mind it after all. My hand, I mean.”

Chuckling tiredly, you roll onto your side and kiss his cheek. “I told you! You just didn’t believe me,” you counter. “I love you, Luke-all of you.”

“And I love you, more than anything.” This time he seeks your mouth, and you happily surrender it. In the course of your kiss he shifts closer to you, craving the silk of your hair and the velvet of your bare arms-but accidentally brushes the bulge in his briefs against your thigh. A slightly pained “mmph!” vibrates through your teeth, and your lips curve amusedly.

“You want to me to take care of that?” you posit as the two of you slowly pull apart. “One good turn deserves another.”

Luke shakes his head as he flops onto his back, golden hair fanned against the pillow. “In a minute. I think we could both use a break.”

You follow him and settle your head on his chest, hand coming to rest over his strong, blessedly beating heart. “I think you’re right,” you agree quietly. Hell, the entire damn universe could use a break. And one day it would arrive-but until then, you think as your lover slings his arm over your back and pecks the crown of your scalp, already anticipating the pleasure to come, this isn’t so bad.

#yes please

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