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    Summary

    “I see it’s the golden boy of the Jedi, huh?” Din replied cooly, walking around Luke nonchalantly after Luke had thwarted his leg attack. There was a predatory quality to the way they circled each other for a moment amidst the chaos.

    “Hardly.” The young Skywalker shrugged, bending in a theatrical version of a bow. “But if that’s what you choose to believe, who am I to stop you?”

    Din feinted a blow to the left before striking with the butt of his spear to Luke’s right, and the force rippled in warning. Despite Luke blocking with his lightsaber, it reached its mark on his ribs with a thump. Now in his personal space, Din leaned in close to Luke’s ear.

    “But you could stop me, couldn’t you?” Din taunted, his voice a whisper against his helmet.

    So why could Luke feel the ghost of the breath against his own helmeted ear? Luke shivered.

    “Depends if that’s what you’re into, your majesty.”

    or: Luke inherits the Skywalker talent for making everything more complicated (because he just can't keep it in his pants)

    Series
    Language:
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