The Thousand Nights and One Knight: Prologue
by Halrloprillalar

Author's Webpage: Beta Goddess: Laura Shapiro
Disclaimer: SW belongs to George Lucas, not me. I do not profit in any way by this story.
Pairing: Lu/Wedge
Rating: R
Spoilers: RotJ
Summary: In which two friends learn the rewards of the warrior.

Luke turned away from the shades of the Jedi and let Leia lead him back to the celebration. He scanned the crowd -- some tired looking rebel fighters, some dusty droids, and a whole horde of hyperactive Ewoks dancing to the tinny sounds of a stone age band. It was the best party he'd ever been to.

When he turned back to Leia, she was canoodling with Han, so Luke made his way across the clearing. A few Ewoks clutched at his legs, but he sidestepped them, almost tripping, and finally reached his target: Wedge Antilles.

"Try this." Wedge slapped him on the back and handed him a small gourd.

"What is it?"

"The local mead. It's good for what ails you." As if to demonstrate, Wedge tipped the last swallows from his own gourd down his throat.

Cautiously, Luke took a few sips. A little sweet for his taste, but strong. And smooth. Smooth was good right about then. A few more pulls and the gourd was empty.

Slinging an arm around his shoulder, Wedge turned Luke away from the fire. "C'mon. I've got a sack of these. Let's get away from the noise and we can talk."

It felt good to let someone else direct him. They found a bench that wasn't too uncomfortable and uncorked more mead. "It's so great to see you, Wedge. What have you been doing since Hoth?"

Wedge leaned back against a tree trunk. "Training pilots, mostly. Kids. Boring, but necessary."

Looks like it paid off, Luke wanted to say, but the events of the day were still too huge, too horrible to safely talk about. Instead, he told Wedge about the rescue on Tatooine, playing up the comic elements. Wedge responded with a story of his own and they swapped for awhile, tales growing taller as the mead diminished.

When they were down to the last two bulbs, they swayed side by side, arms twined around each other's shoulders, trying to remember the words to the fourth verse of an old Rebel song.

"And if the Troopers come to town, we'll knock the bloody Empire down," Luke carolled.

"No, it's 'if the Troopers come to call, we'll kick 'em in the bloody--'"

"That's the fifth verse."


"Fifth." Luke shook Wedge to make his point. Wedge dropped his gourd, splashing the dregs out onto the ground. "Look, Luke...look...Luke..." He blinked. "Luke, you made me spill. Give me yours."

Luke was puzzled. Give his mead to Wedge? "No, I want it." He took a drink and Wedge grabbed at the gourd.

"I want it. It's sweet. I like it."

Trying to keep the bulb out of Wedge's reach and drink from it at the same time proved difficult, since he couldn't let go of Wedge's shoulders. He managed to get the neck inside his mouth, but Wedge jogged his arm and the thick liquid spilled over his chin.

"C'mon, Luke. Gimmee." Wedge made another grab and they both overbalanced, falling off the bench in a tangled heap. Luke was on the bottom, at least mostly, and he could feel Wedge's breath against his cheek. He turned his head and he could smell it, almost taste it, sweet and sticky from the liquor.

Sweet. He put out his tongue and touched his own chin, then Wedge's. Sweet-salt. He licked at the soft corner of Wedge's mouth. Tangy. Warm. He slid his tongue along Wedge's lower lip. More.

Bringing his head up, Luke met Wedge's head coming down. Their noses bashed and their chins scraped. On the second pass they connected, exploring each other's mouths, drinking each other down like the mead. A pinpoint of clarity glowed through the alcoholic haze: he was kissing Wedge. Kissing him. Yes.

A current of affection ran through Luke, warming him to his fingertips. Pulling his arms free, he held his friend and stroked his back. Then a thin hot wire of something stronger uncoiled its way through him. Desire. Sweet. Pressing Wedge's body full against him, Luke buried his mouth in the crook of Wedge's neck, tasting the sweat and grime of an honest day's work.

It was very dark and his eyes were closed. A bird call pierced Luke's brain and he opened them again. It was morning.

Stiff and damp and a little chilled, Luke stretched out and found himself trapped. How? An arm around his chest, a leg over his thighs. Hot breath across his cheek. Sour. Wedge. The even rise and fall against his back shuddered out of rhythm and Wedge yawned against his ear. They disengaged and sat, the blanket that had covered them falling away.

Pain sliced down through Luke's head and churned into nausea in his gut. From Wedge's grey face, Luke guessed he felt much the same. "Ahh..." Luke held his head so it wouldn't explode. "That was stupid."

"Getting drunk?"

"Yes. It seemed like such a great idea at the time." Luke suddenly remembered just why they had woken up spooning under the same blanket. "We didn't...did we?"

They looked at each other. Still fully clothed, both of them. "I guess not." Wedge pulled the blanket over his knees. "Would that have been stupid?"

A moment stretched out between them, spanning battles and plans and victories and defeats, training and patrols, late nights talking. "No," Luke said. "It wouldn't." Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss on Wedge's forehead. And winced. "Though right at this moment, it would be a really bad idea."

"Don't you know some old Jedi hangover remedy?"

"I think it's called 'Don't drink so much.'"

Wedge put his hand on Luke's arm. "We'll talk when we're both feeling better."

"Or something." Luke smiled.

"Or something," Wedge agreed and grinned back. "Where did you find this blanket, Luke?"

"I don't think I did. I just passed out. I think."

"I don't remember getting it either." Wedge shrugged and stood, carefully, wrapping the blanket around himself. He gave Luke a hand up and they stumbled together back to the fire. Leia was there, drinking something from a steaming bowl. She caught Luke's eye and winked. If Jedi training usually included learning not to blush, Yoda must have skipped that lesson.

=Two months later=

Luke woke, burning. It was the middle of the night, but the lights of Coruscant bled around the edges of the window shade, throwing a faint orange glow through the room. He turned in the bed and gently bit Wedge's shoulder, skating his hand across his lover's chest. Moving closer, he nuzzled the warm skin and stroked Wedge's belly in slow circles. After a minute, Wedge came alive in his arms.

"Again? Why are you always so horny in the middle of the night?" His own hands found Luke, pulling him closer. "You have a thing for sleeping men?"

"No," Luke said against Wedge's neck. "I keep having these dreams."

"Tell me about them."

Luke felt Wedge's fingers lace through his hair as he kissed his way down his lover's breastbone. "Can't remember now." He moved lower, sliding his tongue into Wedge's navel, enjoying the shudders it triggered.

"Then next time, OK?"

"Mmm hmm," Luke agreed, but he was in no position to say more. Nor was Wedge. Sweet.

Back to SWA-L Archive