han/luke « one shots

friends don't kiss friends

The first time, he had taken her word for what it had been—for luck.

     For all the two of them knew, the flimsy cable conveniently stored inside the stolen Stormtrooper belt loosely hanging on his hips would've snapped and dropped them down into the depths of the pit below, claiming their bodies as well as their fading screams. He hadn't objected because, damnit, he had needed some luck in order to pull off his abysmal attempt at a dashing rescue of a princess. A princess who had managed to rescue him far more than he had rescued her in just the few minutes they had known each other.

     It had been chaste, it had been a last desperate act in case they died—which they definitely should've as far as he was concerned—and most importantly, it had been on the cheek. When he had mentioned it in passing to his squadron, the lot of them had burst into raucous laughter, treating the aforementioned 'kiss' like it had been a full-on makeout session.

     Luke Skywalker had no shame in admitting that Leia was the first girl that had ever kissed him.

     A classmate of his back on Tatooine, Akira, had once asked him out when they were both seven, which had led to him denying her with a furrowed brow and wide eyes as she burst into tears and ran off, never to speak to him again. Mentioning it to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had only led to the same reaction he had gotten from his squadron years later.

     Except, despite what his aunt and uncle had told him about 'growing into it', Luke had still never kissed any girls.

     He had kissed a few boys though.

     More specifically, one boy—an older boy, much to his uncle's dismay—named Biggs Darklighter.

     Luke had kissed that boy more times than he could count, and in more locations than he even thought there could be in such a backwater area of Tatooine. In the backs of speeders, in Uncle Owen's garage, and in a hidden room at Tosche Station only they knew about, just to name a few. Having been young and idealistic, even more so than he was now, Luke had firmly believed that he was going to spend the rest of his life with Biggs Darklighter. That the two of them would sail off into the stars, escape the hellish dustball they called a planet, and never look back.

     Then Biggs left for the Academy.

     By the time they saw each other again, all that was left of his first love was dust in the stars, sparkling in the fires of an exploded X-wing engine as the dying crackle of a comm fizzled out in his ear, carrying a last echo of death along with it.

     That had been a few years back though, and Luke had had his time to grieve. In fact, he had been grieving from the moment Biggs had originally left without bothering to take him along like they had always dreamed. He may not have been dead in those few years, but it sure had felt like it to the young farmboy.

     Now, Luke had a new dilemma. Han, as usual, provided no help when he brought the problem to him.

     "Wait, you're telling me you're complaining about Her Highness kissing you too much? Thought you two were close?"

     Luke rolled his eyes, tossing a hydrospanner over the mess of brown hair tufting out from below the panels of the Falcon, the only thing visible of the smuggler as he tinkered away.

     "As friends. At least I thought so, until she kept kissing me all the time," Luke groaned, slamming his head back against the wall he was leaning on. "I didn't mean to give her the wrong impression. The first time was fine, but then it kept happening. I brought it up to Wedge, and he said that when women do that then they're into you...or something."