Archive of Our Own

He’s real pale, like the sands of that Tahiti beach Din’s seen in the travel agent’s window. Din‘s spent a lot of time thinking about those beaches, about sinking his boots into sand. He’d pick some shady spot just to watch turquoise waves crash over and over, eating up shoreline until they reach his toes.

Now, he thinks about another person with him there - a swooped wig chop and blue eyes. It’s a damn fixation – a distraction, really – but ever since that farmboy scurried up to him at Riverside, cranked to be in the city and gabbing a mile a minute about the drag race, Din’s been all mixed up.

The kid doesn’t have a car. His uncle’s a mean sonofabitch, won’t let him drive anything but the tractor – nothing with real speed. But gee, that farmboy twang said, he dreams about that wind. That rush. And Din didn’t know, just then, why he offered the kid a chance. But when he clambered on the back of Din’s bike and held on tight, that’s when it all went to pieces.

Bakersfield is a two hour ride up the 5 North. There’s mountains between them, and miles of hot, empty flatland stinking of cows. Din drives every one like he’s trying to break records. The high school is older than the city, all crumbly and saggy in the hot, constant sun.

He drags through two cigs before the bell rings and a steady stream of students come pouring down the steps. A couple chicanos whistle at him as they pass, boots pointed and hair greased.

“Pásame las tres,” one yells out. 

Din flicks a butt out, ignoring them. He’s safe behind his shades and the mask the Watch taught him. 

It takes another cig before he sees Luke Skywalker, trotting down the steps behind a gang of paper-shakers. He’s halfway through a laugh when his eyes alight on Din leaning against his bike.

He meant to be cool, all James Dean and stoic-like, but Luke is Christmas and starlight when he runs up, hugging his books to his chest.

“Hiya, Din,” he says, smiling. “You’re a long way from LA.”

Din nods, looking past him for a moment to the curious eyes glancing their way.

“Wanna drive?” he asks, gloved fingers twitching with the need to touch Luke. It’s too risky in front of the whole school, but Luke likes a little risk, Din knows. He’d found out at the Grand Prix, when Luke had corralled him to a secluded spot beneath the bleachers, grabbed Din’s lapels, and pressed kisses to his jaw.

It’s probably what inspires him to get onto Din’s bike, even when some lanky guy calls out his name from in front of the school. He takes the freeway back toward the city, then turns East at the Newhall Pass, following the 14 until he sees the Martian landscape burst around them.

They follow dirt roads until they’re nestled nice and hidden from any prying eyes. From his pack he pulls out a ratty blanket he’d found in the back of the shop, and lays it down so that Luke won’t have to dirty up his slacks. Luke leans back on it – hair all sweat-slick against his forehead and smashed down from Din’s spare bucket. He licks his lips when Din stares at him for too long.

“What is this place?” Luke asks, roaming his eyes around the dusty red landscape.

“Vasquez Rocks.” Din sits on the other end of the blanket, hooking his arms around his knees. “A famous bandito hid out here for a while.”

Luke smiles. “It’ll be our hideout too.”

“You planning on a life of crime?”

Luke shrugs, and his eyes go all sharp as they roam around Din’s visage. “As long as it’s a life of something.”

And because he’s been thinking about it every day for two weeks, Din reaches over and lays a gloved hand to Luke’s ruddy cheeks. “You’re gonna get everything,” he promises, even though he doesn’t have the power or money or anything to give. It’s just easy, he thinks, to promise those eyes the whole damn galaxy.

Luke reaches and pulls and they’re kissing, full bodies pressed up against each other. It’s different than at the racetrack, horizontal and freer. Din gets to try out all the touches and angles he’s been imagining since Riverside. Sure enough, a nip at Luke’s ear makes him squirm, and a hand up his shirt makes him pant like an Olympian.

He loses track of his experiments when Luke decides to be bolder, tracing fingers along the edge of his leather pants, grinding his hips up, and moaning low. In all his layers and the heat of early fall, Din feels like he’s pouring sweat. Covered finger tips to boots, he’s grown molten between his hips. His shades, the ones he never takes off, start to droop down nose and bump against Luke’s cheeks.

This kinda thing, clothed touching and hard kisses, ain’t necessarily new. At nineteen, he’s had a few tumbles around town. Early on, he’d found the grind of a male thigh more satisfying than some fast girl’s delicate hand. But this necking, informed and led by an experienced busy mouth, is something more electrifying. It feels like the hair on his head is already standing at attention, sensitive and charged when Luke’s clever hands comb through and pull.

“Want you so bad,” Luke groans when Din takes a dive for his neck, just mouthing but thinking about sucking.

And ain’t that the damned notion, Din thinks. He grinds down a bit, earning some more moans. Then Luke’s hand on his back drifts down and yanks to untuck Din’s shirt. The shock of air on his back makes Din freeze. He pulls back, surprised at his own hesitation, and Luke’s hands retreat.

“Better cool it,” Luke says, like it’s his idea, and sits up all calm and unperturbed when Din pulls up to his knees. Din nods, shaky for some reason, and pushes his sunglasses to rights.

There’s no explanation needed, no teasing like Din’s used to. Luke just opens his book bag and pulls out some apple slices and Lays, arranging them on the blanket like a sweetheart’s picnic. He smiles up at Din, looking content and buzzy, a flush of pink visible between the vee of his polo.

“Tell me about Vasquez,” he says around a mouthful of apple, and it settles Din’s blood.

— 

At nineteen, Dan Guerney got his custom Ford flathead-powered race car up to 138 miles per hour at the Bonneville Salt Flats. He was supposed to go to Stanford, was dreaming up his Triumph TR2 at some feeder school in Menlo when the US Army snatched him away.

One tour in Korea later, Guerney was impressing US Ferrari importer Luigi Chinetti at the Grand Prix. He got second place in that TR2, and he was suddenly driving alongside Phil Hill and Troy Ruttman in Formula 1.

Din and Luke saw him at Riverside, barreling past with that cold determination most drivers wear beneath their goggles. Barely older than Din, and winning race after race, a survivor of war, dreams of college and a normal life left in the dust behind him.

—

Like all good high schoolers, Luke’s got a cohort of seniors he flounces around with. Its part of the play - a show of normalcy on the weekdays, like he’s not a speed demon that squeezes Din’s middle tight, screaming faster, go faster Din. Like he doesn’t send Din’s head spinning and blood boiling with wandering fingers and flirty smiles.

He joined the yearbook committee, he reminds Din, so he won’t be around til evening on Wednesdays. Biggs asked me to, Luke says, amused by Din’s impatience.

That tall senior is a certified nuisance, and Din hates him. Unlike the other squares Luke goes to football games with, Biggs looks like a man with a full grown mustache and actual muscles. He probably doesn’t even notice it, but Luke talks about Biggs like he’s John Wayne or something.

“Did Biggs teach you to neck?” Din bursts out down the phoneline, hot under the collar for losing another evening to Luke’s stupid friends.

Luke just laughs. “It’s not like that. He’s my best friend. I’ve known him forever.”

And Din oughta believe him, but sometimes Biggs squints at him from the school steps, looking bugged, even territorial.

Din sighs. “How about Saturday? Let’s drive to the beach.”

“You know my uncle has me working all Saturday.”

Din knows, but he likes to try anyway and push at Luke’s farmboy sensibilities until he’s just that bright, fierce little creature that gripped his arm that first day at the racetrack.

“I’ll pick you up late,” Din tries, making his voice more syruppy. “Come on, baby. We’ll stay out until the sky brightens.”

Behind him, Din hears a snort and finds he’s no longer alone in the shop. Paz is pulling on a coverall and looking dangerously curious. On the line, Luke sighs, almost convinced. Din brings the receiver closer to his ear, cups his hand around the transmitter.

“We’ll eat fish tacos. I know a place.”

“Aunt Beru is gonna want me to go to church with her Sunday.”

“Good.” Din smirks. “You can make penance for corrupting me and feel all squeaky clean again come Monday morning.”

“Din…” Luke laughs, and Din can almost hear the eye roll. But he knows the idea of peeling the layers of Din’s get-up and teaching him to kiss gets Luke all hot and bothered. Sure enough, the ponyboy sighs again and agrees to a late night pick-up, reminding Din to turn off his motor and walk up the lane to his uncle’s farmhouse.

It’s a family farm, Luke had explained, built by Owen’s grandfather after the civil war. Owen and Beru had worked hard to survive the Depression. The house’s frame had gone crooked from the earthquake a few years ago, but it’s tidy, all Americana and white. It would’ve been the perfect place for a respectable boy to grow up and take over. But there’s something else in Luke’s blood, something that makes him climb onto a stranger’s motorcycle and kiss until he can’t breathe.

Din has seen Luke’s aunt peering at him from the upstairs windows before, her round face looking down through gauzy curtains, frowning and worried. They’re not blood, Luke confirmed, but they’re all he has. And Din can see how badly he wants to please them, even when he’s ready to burst out of his skin. It’s a relatable sensation.

“We’re born drifters,” Din tells him, when they’re lying back on the cold sand in Ventura. “We’re not meant to settle in one place. Our parents are gone, and now we have to find our own way.”

Luke rests his head on Din’s chest and wraps their fingers together. “I’m not gonna drift, Din,” he says. “I’m gonna rocket.”

—

Paz stops him one night late in the fall, sitting on the front porch with a few of the gang to smoke and drink. Din’s nearly to the front door when he calls out to him from the shadows.

“Tell us who the dolly is, Djarin.” A few snickers and whistles come from the shadow of the porch.

“We want to meet your güisa, ése,” someone says. “Bring her round.”

Din ignores them, pulling open the screen door, but Paz grabs his arm. There’s a dangerous smile glinting under his shades.

“Armorer says you’ve been running your hog like crazy around the city. Thought it was a job at first, but then I heard that phone call.”

Din sighs, trying to pull his arm away, but Paz has always been stronger.

“It’s none of your business, Vizsla.”

“Well, ain’t that a bite. Thought we were family. Thought we shared everything. This is The Way.”

“This is The Way,” the others chime in, the goons. Din searches the dark for their faces, watching a few red cigarette butts glow and fade.

“What’s the problem? Are you ashamed of her?” asks a voice, and it’s Xi'an, walking closer to the porch light so Din can see her. Some greaser that Din’s never seen before has his arm around her shoulders. She runs her tongue over her teeth and grins real big, a shark with dark hair.

“No,” Din replies. A flicker of hurt crosses her face, before she reins herself in. Even after all these years, she’s still looking for ways to get back at him.

“I heard you got yourself a kitten way up in cow country,” she says and the others all titter. “Is she keeping you nice and frustrated Mando? Maybe she likes the bulls up there better.”

The group dissolves into laughter and hooting. Din manages to rip his arm away from Paz’s paw right before he hears a whistle from inside the house.

He finds her in the kitchen, oiling a couple heaters on the counter. The smell of evening dinner, garlic and onion, is still lingering in the air.

“You weren’t at the shop today,” she says without looking up. Din shifts in his boots, exhausted. He wanted to be in bed an hour ago.

“I told Peli. She knew to miss me.”

“She said that you’ve been gone quite a lot lately. Even when you are at work, you spend more time on your own bike than the customers’.”

It’s true; he’s been tuning up his hog a lot more lately. Frequent trips through the Grapevine have shown their wear. Din should have had an explanation ready, but he’s too tired to come up with something. It doesn’t make a difference what his excuse is anyway. Good old Armorer won’t accept anything he has to say.

“If you dislike the shop, I’ve got work for you,” she says as she slides a clip in. Din eyes her hands, so sure and steady. He knows he’s past due to start really earning his keep. He should consider it an honor. But he could never let go of those Tahiti beaches.

“I know,” he answers, still hesitant. Peli likes him; she’d let him work on all sorts of cars. She didn’t laugh at him when he squirreled away his money, hoping he’ll get to fly in an airplane one day.

“I picked you,” she says, wiping a rag across her oily fingers, “I saw in you what others couldn’t. A will to live. A drive. That’s gold, Din Djarin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Tomorrow, then. This is The Way.”

Din swallows, releases the fists at his side. “This is The Way,” he repeats.

—

At twenty-one, Richie Ginther raced in Pebble Beach, driving a Ford-engined MG T-type sports car that he fixed up with his buddy instead of focusing on the aerospace job his daddy set up for him. He should’ve come back from Korea a changed man, focused on his career, but instead he started racing an Austin-Healey, then a Porsche, then a Ferrari.

In January, Hot Rod said, Ginther piloted a two-liter Ferrari to 83.8 mph in Pomona and won a five-lap qualifying preliminary for the SCCA Pacific Coast Championship. In June, months before Luke and Din saw him careen by, he won the championship outright.

—

“Din,” Luke complains, shoving at Din’s shoulder to dislodge his attempts at necking. Din’s been at it for half an hour, working to maneuver the book off of Luke’s lap and introduce a more interesting specimen to study, but the kid won’t have it.

“Come on, baby,” Din laughs, leaning his back against Luke’s bedroom wall. An hour ago, he’d climbed the terrace to Luke’s bedroom window and found the studybug staring at his physics textbook with a furrowed brow. He’ d seemed ripe for the picking to Din, but his plans had been rebuffed with protests about midterms. Din had tried pouting, whining about his long drive and the chill in the air. All he got for his efforts was a sigh and an invitation to climb through the window and sit quietly nearby.

Din lasted about twenty minutes before he got handsy. A pretty flush had spread up Luke’s neck at the attention, but he’s held strong. Din sighs, indulging in a long stare at Luke on his childhood bed, relaxed in house clothes and bare feet. It’s a heady thought, getting Luke all bothered and messy on his sheets, having to stay quiet enough to not be heard above the TV downstairs. But with Luke determined to study, Din decides to play detective instead.

The layers of Luke’s room fascinate him. The bottom layer is the wallpaper - something his aunt musta put up when he was a sprout. Cowboys on horses gallop along a stripe through the middle of the room. Their pursuit of buffalo has been interrupted by pictures of cars, ripped from advertisements and pinned to the walls.

Then there’s the books, pushed haphazardly onto shelves and piled high in stacks around the room. Treasure Island and Tom Sawyer have long since given way to every volume of the Hardy Boys, which in turn have been buried by the broken spines of Ray Bradbury and Jack Kerouac. At the foot of the bed, Dickinson and James Henry have been lost beneath at least a hundred car magazines.

Luke’s desk is covered in drafting paper. There’s drawings of rocket ships, traced from Popular Mechanics, and car mods drawn over Chevies and Fords. Math is scribbled across scraps of paper, and not the kind Luke’s meant to be tested on next week.

Din picks one up and waves it at Luke. “You building a bomb, Skywalker?”

Luke’s blue eyes glance up for a moment before going back to his homework. “The teen space zine has all sorts of problem solving. It’s a good exercise.”

The paper droops in Din’s hands. Luke is serious, refusing to be teased about this. He drops the scribbles and flops back down on the bed, looking up at the cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling.

“Let’s go to Griffith Park.”

Luke huffs and slaps his hands on his textbook. “You're impossible.”

Din runs his ungloved hand up Luke’s arm. It’s a new thing, allowing himself the vulnerability of unimpeded touch. He sees Luke’s arms break out in goosebumps despite his objection to messing around.

“Are you really gonna study all night?”

Luke looks at him with pleading eyes, begging for mercy. “You remember how it was your senior year, don’t you? I gotta test well to get to college.”

Din sighs. “I don’t, actually. Never graduated.”

“What? Why not?”

Din shrugs, turning back to the ceiling. “I already have a job. Degree not required.”

“At the car shop? But you can’t work there forever.”

Din frowns. “No. But. There’s some… expectations from my family. Traditions, more like. They’ve been training me for hunting.”

Luke stretches out his legs over the side of the bed, finally letting his book fall from his lap. “Hunting? Is that a profession?”

“Bounty hunting, Luke. It’s the way we do things.”

Luke’s eyes grow wide as he contemplates this. It probably sounds like some old-timey thing to him – the cowboys from the television, dark-hat ruffians making a living on the frontier. It’s hard to explain to an outsider. The Watch has been saving refugees and orphaned kids from traditional group homes for decades. Growing up so gentle, Luke can’t understand what Din owes them.

“And that’s what you want? To be a bounty hunter?”

Din shrugs again, pushing at his shades until they dig into the flesh above his nose.

“We can’t all be Ivy-Leaguers.”

“Stanford is hardly Ivy League.”

Din rolls his eyes. He’s grown to hate the name of that damned institution. Luke’s been gearing up to go since Beru plastered up the cowboys on his walls. The first step to shaking the dust of this town off his loafers and blasting into space.

“Frisco’s cold year-round,” Din grumbles.

Luke scooches down on the bed until he’s on his back too, close enough for Din to rub a knuckle across his jaw.

“Then come with me and keep me warm,” Luke says, all soft eyes and soft mouth. It’s the same conversation every time. Luke’s got dreams, big ones, far from LA, far from the crust of the earth. So far that Din can’t see himself in them.

He can’t think about it now. Not when it’s months away and ain’t shown itself yet.

“Griffith Park,” Din says. “They’ve got people up there with telescopes looking at Saturn’s rings.” He pets Luke's jaw again. “Let me show you the stars, baby.”

Luke lets out an agitated groan, shaking his blonde tresses against the bed cover. “You’re a bad persuasion, daddy-o.”

Din grins all the way to the city, all the way up the mountain roads to the planetarium. Luke presses his eyes to the telescopes, gaping at nebulae and craters on the moon. They sit on the lawn, surrounded by the other couples, too exposed for much more than Luke’s drifting fingertips against his hand in the grass.

The wind blows past them, and Luke shivers in his cardigan. The warmth of early fall has been gone for weeks. Din shifts out of his jacket, handing it over like it’s nothing, like it’s not a second skin. He watches Luke hold it in his hands for a moment, staring down at the leather and carefully drifting a hand across the shoulders. Then he wraps it around himself, ducking his neck so his ears are covered against the chill.

Keep me warm, he’d said. But Din can’t see it – not the future or anything else. Another strong breeze blows by, and the cold seems to penetrate into his skin down to his core.

—

Din likes the movies. There’s something soothing about escaping into the cool dark of a theater and pretending he’s part of some grand story out there. He sees film crews all over town and watches film trucks load and unload their lights and equipment. It should’ve shattered the magic, seeing sweaty grips smoking outside sets.

But he’s hooked anyways, watching the colors blur by, listening to the music, wondering what’s going to happen. He’s see them all, every flick that comes to the crummy little movie house down the block from the gang’s house. When he was a kid with no scratch, he used to slink in through the back door. He got to know the projectionist there, skinny Bodhi with his dark eyelashes and moody disposition. Din liked sitting in the projection room with Bodhi, watching him read his comics and sneaking sips out of his flask. Din didn’t know he left for Korea until it was too late.

Luke doesn’t like movies much. Every time they’ve gone together, he’s gotten bored and jittery in his seat, not used to sitting still for so long. Din drags him there anyways, just to sit in the dark next to him.

There’s a new one this weekend, a sci-fi flick with a lotta buzz, so Din sits him in the back row of a theater late one Friday, hoping he’ll be captivated by the rockets. Luke rolls his eyes at the science right away, scoffing quietly, but there’s a smile on his face.

After an hour, Luke leans his head back, looking around at their fellow movie goers. There’s an old man alone in the front row and a couple canoodling a few rows up.

“Let’s motor,” Luke whispers low in Din’s ear. He’s so close for a brief second that Din feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“This is the best part,” he whispers back, already missing Luke’s proximity. Luke sighs, and his fingers start dancing along the armrest. Slowly, he lowers them and they brush Din’s thigh, creeping up and around in a tantalizing caress.

Din scoots down involuntarily, surprised, but breathless with excitement, trying to focus on the story on the screen. When Luke’s fingers start following the seam of his jeans up between his legs, Din opens his knees a little. He flicks his eyes over to Luke’s face, but his are on the screen, slightly glazed over.

Din fills out pretty quick, surprised by Luke’s boldness, excited to be touched there. He can’t help but peek down when Luke’s hand cups his cock and gives it a quick squeeze. Din presses the back of his gloved hand to his mouth, trying to muffle any sounds he might make.

It’s surprising that Luke would even think to do something like this. Maybe he’s just bored enough in the mostly-empty movie theater to reach over and tease Din in his jeans. They both keep their eyes on the screen, but neither of them can keep track of the movie. Luke experiments, squeezing lightly, dragging his palm heavily along the length of Din’s cock. Din hears his heart beating fast, working hard to keep his breath even. When Luke tries to pull his hand away, he makes an embarrassing whine of protest against his glove.

So Luke moves his hand again keeping it mostly light with an occasional hard swipe of his thumb. Din feels his eyes sink shut, and his arms squeeze tightly around the armrests of his seat. After several minutes, he’s shaky, and his cock is so hard it feels like he could burst out of his jeans.

He tries to keep still gripping the armrests, but eventually he tips over toward Luke and grabs at his arm, squeezing around his bicep, ready to beg him to stop or speed up or just end the teasing torture. In the end, he doesn’t have to say anything. Luke grips his cock as tight as he can and lowers his face toward Din’s. His skin has a slight sheen of sweat visible in the flickering light of the screen. Luke pushes his mouth to Din’s neck and sucks a kiss right beneath his jaw. Din stiffens, clamps his thighs tight around Luke’s wrist and comes, biting into the leather of his own gloves to stay quiet.

Luke leans back after Din’s pulsed through it, glancing around at their fellow patrons and looking mighty satisfied. Din can see how hard he is in own khakis, straining against the zip, so he grabs Luke’s arm and pulls him out of the theater. They move quickly down the hall into the men’s. He scopes the stalls, and finding it empty, pushes a big trash can against the door, and presses Luke into the corner stall.

He falls to his knees without thinking, but at Luke’s gasp, pauses to peer up above the top of his shades at his ruddy face.

“Okay?” He asks, hand hovering above Luke’s zipper, giving him the gist of his plans. Luke’s eyes go wide, but he nods so hard hairs flop out of his coiffure.

Din lets Luke out of his pants and enjoys the look of his cock springing forward out of a nest of golden curls. It’s cut, all-American, and as pale as Luke. It makes Din all fond somehow, as much as it makes his spent dick pulse in his own pants. His throat feels tight, inexplicably, and he thinks, for a mournful second, that he shouldn’t be getting acquainted with Luke Skywalker’s cock in the movie house bathroom. But he’s here now, and the kid looks ready to burst.

He pushes these thoughts away and settles his hands on Luke’s hips. Thinking about what might feel good, he mouths the head and does a tentative lick. Immediately, Luke’s hands grip at Din’s hair, his whole body snapping forward at the sensation.

Pleased with Luke’s response, Din stretches his lips around his cock, sucking as he takes in what he can. Spit fills his mouth and drips out of the corners of lips. He tongues at him, interested in the taste, thinking he might enjoy taking an afternoon to get to know all of the textures and feelings of Luke’s dick, but a grunt of need comes from above him, so Din focuses.

He grips the base, trying to cover what his mouth can’t quite reach, and lowers his lips slowly. Then he moves back, sucking as he goes, feeling Luke throb at the movement. Fingers pull at Din’s hair, probably an involuntary impulse by the way they release the strands so quickly, and Din absently wonders if Luke will have pomade all over his hands now.

Then it suddenly ends, because on his mouth’s second descent, Luke’s hips twitch forward, and he warns, “Ah! Din!” before his cock hardens even more and starts spurting.

Din backs off, surprised by the taste, and watches the rest dribble down Luke’s shaft to his hand as Luke’s cock twitches again and again in his grip. He glances up to hooded eyes, a heaving chest, and a bright flush on Luke’s neck. Din springs up to his feet, and without thinking, presses an open kiss to Luke’s mouth, his tongue still salty with his come.

They press together for a moment, kissing and breathing into each other’s mouths, before Luke trips, trapped by the pants around his ankles. He huffs a laugh, reaching down to fix his clothes before leaving the stall. Din can’t do much about the mess in his pants, but he tries his best with a wad of toilet paper before going to wash his hands.

When he emerges from the stall, Luke is leaning against the sink, watching the water from the faucet slowly drain downward.

“That was heaven and earth,” he says, but he’s frowning, like the idea might be confusing. His eyes meet Din’s shades in the mirror, and they soften.

“Okay?” he asks Din, real quiet and gentle.

Din doesn’t like to think he can be vulnerable, even beneath the fluorescent lights with the apparent love of his life looking on. But he’s never sucked someone’s cock before. It’s nice that it was Luke’s. Someone kind, someone good. Someone that’s slipping away from Din, even now.

“Yeah,” he says and has to clear his throat after hearing the gravel in his voice. Luke blushes prettily, looking away again to smile at his hands.

“Let’s get outta here,” Din says after a moment, and they race to the parking lot, laughing like loons as they run. Luke squeezes his arms around Din’s middle real tight as they pull onto the midnight highway.

—

It’s a good scene tonight, lots of excited jitters from behind flaming cig butts and someone’s got their car radio playing top 40 a ways off. The midday crowd that showed for the professionals have long since cut, and only the proud delinquents of Mid-Wilshire remain, drinking from cheap bottles and dancing in the headlight halos.

A flathead-equipped racer and a modded street roadster are at the crude starting line, revving loud as a little dolly waves the starting flag. Din and Luke find a good spot in the shadows between cars to observe, Din sucking down nicotine as Luke chews Juicy Fruit.

“Look at that 4 cylinder.” Luke whistles low, looking all the world a hep cat in his provided disguise. Din had insisted. Can’t go to a street race in a cardigan and oxfords, baby. It was for Luke’s protection, but mostly Din just liked the idea of him in leather.

Still, it doesn’t keep them from getting noticed. Not an hour later, Din sees Xi’an and her new boyfriend casting an eyeball at them from across the dragstrip. A few more races speed by before she makes her move, sauntering over like a wily cat.

“Hey, Mando,” she calls out, flicking one long pony over her shoulder. “Didn’t think you had time for races these days.”

Her sharp eyes are on Luke, roaming from his breaker-styled hair to his Chuck T’s, and landing on Din’s old jacket like a world-class detective. Her smile turns predatory.

“Don’t tell me this flutter bum’s been what is keeping you from the shop.”

Din tilts his head and feels himself unconsciously lean towards Luke, protective. But before he can respond, Luke steps up to Xi’an, steely-eyed.

“My name’s Luke,” he says, almost friendly, mostly aggressive. Din knows, unfortunately, that the kid isn’t one to walk away from a fight. “What’s yours?”

“I’ll let Mando here tell you all about me,” Xi’an laughs, coquettishly fluttering her eyelashes. “Hope what I taught him has come useful to you.”

Luke’s jaw jumps, and whatever friendliness he’d been projecting fades into cold dislike. Victorious, Xi’an flicks her eyes back to Din.

“We used to have good times together, didn’t we? Used to drive me around like a demon. Maybe he’ll show off tonight. You gonna join the races, Mando?”

“You know I don’t have a car.”

“But I do. Paz lent me something real cherry. A Plymouth Barracuda, just like you love, baby. Why don’t you show off for your boyfriend?”

Din steps forward, ready to tell her off, but Luke places a placating hand on his arm, and turns steely eyes to Xi’an.

“I’ll race it,” he says, all casual, like he does it all the time. Din shakes his head.

“We were just gonna cut out,” he says, tugging Luke along, but the kid won’t move. He’s got an expression on his face Din’s never seen before, staring down Xi’an and her sharky smile.

“How about the next drag?” she asks, indicating behind her where the cars line up. Luke nods and follows her across the dirt track to a row of parked cars, looking shadowy and strange in the light bouncing off the headlights.

“Luke,” Din tries, catching up with them. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“I want to try,” Luke says, determined, and Din shoulda known bringing him out here would end up like this.

He watches, worry twisting his gut, as Luke climbs in Xi’an’s car and drives it to the starting line. If Paz lent it to her, Peli probably saw it in the shop at least. The thought should be comforting, but he’s still desperate to run up to the door, whip it open and steal Luke away. The kid only has eyes for the darkened track in front of him, pale fingers tight around the steering wheel, jaw tight. A gasp gets stuck in Din’s throat when the flag drops, and Luke peels out like an expert, like he’s done it before, switching gears and launching away from his opponent with barely a screech.

Din runs up the track helplessly, heart hammering in his chest, trying to keep sight of red taillights through the kicked-up dust and dirt. When they get nearly too small to make out, one pair swerves far off the track and into a ditch. Voices closer to the crash start hollering, and Din is running, sprinting, sucking in air and pushing his legs as fast as he can.

At the turn in the track he sees an overturned Altered-Class, one torn-up wheel in the air, but no sign of Luke or the Barracuda. A crowd gathers around the wreck, and he jumps in the trench to help pull the driver out through the smashed windshield. The guy is hollering, blood pouring down across his face, but he’s alive, and Din feels relief crash over him like cold water.

He scampers back up the trench to go find Luke, but he’s already there at the ridge, covered in dust and panting, eyes blown out wide. Din grabs his arm, looking him over frantically.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, yelling, he realizes. There’s so much noise, so much commotion. But Luke’s face is normal, not painted in blood. He looks shook up, but fine. Luke gives a small shake of his head, not able to tear his eyes away from the wreck or from the moaning kid on the ground.

“His tire blew,” Luke pants. “I tried to swerve, tried to pull off right away. But when he flipped, I…”

Din grips his shoulder, looks him in the eye over the top of his shades. “Are you okay?” He asks and risks running a hand across Luke’s chest and arms, feeling for hidden injuries. But Luke just shakes his head again, taking a shuddering breath.

Din pushes at Luke. “Let’s go.”

But Luke resists. “Shouldn’t I stay? Help if I can.”

“Luke, this is about to turn into a bad scene,” Din whispers tightly. “I’ve seen it before.”

Luke tears away his eyes finally, looking at the people edging away from the ridge and melting into the shadows. He meets Din’s gaze and nods, following him quickly down the edge of the dragstrip to where he parked his motorcycle.

Luke is still shaking by the time they get back to the farmhouse, so Din helps him walk up the lane, and climb up and through his bedroom window. In his room, he strips Luke of his jacket and shoes, then helps him lie down on the covers. Luke stares up at him in the dark, looking soft and terribly vulnerable. Din makes a move to climb back out the window, but Luke’s arm snakes up and pulls him down onto the bed.

“Stay,” Luke whispers, and then buries his face into Din’s collar.

Din holds him until the shakes finally stop, until he’s slack and warm and breathing even. He drifts a few times, exhausted from a long night, but every strange noise from the farmhouse jolts him awake. It’s dreamlike, waking up with the impulse to run, only to find the warm body of someone you love in your arms. He could get used to it, he thinks, dangerously. He could learn to fall asleep listening to Luke’s heartbeat.

Eventually, he opens his eyes to the lightened sky outside the window, and extracts himself from Luke’s grasp. Luke’s eyelashes flutter open, and he squints up at Din.

“Gotta go,” Din whispers. “Unless you want to explain to your aunt.”

Luke nods, yawning and looking so creased and soft that Din nearly forgets what he just said and crawls right back into bed with him.

“Call me?” Luke asks just as Din has swung his feet out the window. He reaches a hand back, grabbing Luke’s t-shirt and hauling him forward until he can press a kiss to his chapped morning lips.

—

At twenty-two, Troy Ruttman won the Indianapolis 500, making him the youngest in history to win the World Championship.

A few months later, he got in an accident in a sprint car race in Iowa. His arm was severely broken, and Ruttman spent his recuperation time drinking, gambling and gaining weight. After almost two years away from racing, he tried coming back. Everyone said he wasn’t the same driver.

He never won another race.

—

Once he descends into the valley, Din can feel the temperature drop. In LA, it had dawned a colder than usual Christmas morning, but in Bakersfield it was close to freezing, making the wind sharp and harsh against his cheeks as he rode the familiar roads that led to the Lars’ farmhouse.

They hadn’t exactly made plans to see each other on Christmas morning, but Luke had spoken so dreamily about the traditions of his family. He likes trimming the tree and eating cookies and Christmas Eve service with his aunt. Ever since school had let out for the year, he’d been gabbing about the presents he’d bought and the carols they’ll sing and the local Christmas play.

A long time ago, Din had Christmases like that. They’d celebrated the Noche Buena, and Mama had told stories about Viejito Pascuero. He remembers how they sat around all day, unhurried with life for once, warm and happy in their little home so far away from LA. He tries not to think about those times, buries them away in the same place as his other memories before he was adopted by the Watch.

But Luke’s enthusiasm reminds Din of that feeling of warmth and safety. So he’d hopped on his hog as soon as he could escape the house, present tucked away in his bag.

Embarrassingly, he’d agonized over Luke’s gift for weeks. The thought of giving Luke something trivial – some book or trinket like any little dolly would give their sweetheart – made him cringe. Luke was more than that to him. More than just some fling, some teenage fixation.

Din expected to interrupt a Normal Rockwell scene with half a dozen excuses circulating in his head as he walks up the drive, but noises in the old barn halt him, and he diverts his path to peep in. Luke is inside, squatting in front of an old Chevy with a bevy of tools flung around him. Pleased to catch him alone, Din parks his bike and tries to sneak up on Luke.

“He just doesn’t understand,” he hears Luke grumble, before he turns to grab a wrench and then startles when he sees Din.

Din grins, can’t help it, and opens his mouth to say something, but Luke’s eyes move past his shoulder. He smiles tightly and says, “Did you forget it’s Christmas Day?”

Din frowns. He means to sarcastically comment it was the whole damn reason he was here, but an unfamiliar laugh rings out behind him. Din turns his head to see an old man sitting in the corner of the barn. It’s old Ben Kenobi, Din realizes after a moment, Luke’s neighbor that they sometimes motor passed in the early mornings, out tending his garden.

Din looks back to Luke, reads the stillness in his shoulders and the bite in his eyes. He deflects quickly.

“What’s this?” he says, waving a hand towards the Chevy.

Luke sighs, slapping a hand along the hood of the car. “A pile of junk disguised as a Christmas present.”

Ben laughs again. “Luke, think of it as a project. Something to challenge you.”

Din raises eyebrows at the old man. “A present from you?”

Ben shakes his head when Luke says, “Nope. It’s a consolation prize from dear old Uncle Owen. Something to keep me busy while he ruins my future.”

“Luke,” Ben sighs, “impatience and discontent will blind you to the truth. Your Uncle wants to do his best by you.”

Luke scowls down at the scratched up paint. “Please. He just wants to keep me here so he can have free labor for the farm.” Hurt blue eyes flash up at them both. “I’m almost nineteen years old. I’m a grown man.”

“What happened?” Din asks, trying to catch up.

“I got accepted to Stanford,” Luke explains, opening the car’s hood. “Thought they’d be thrilled. Waited until this morning to share the big news. Turns out my uncle has other plans for me.”

Din absorbs this, folding his arms across his chest in the cold barn. He’d never admit it to Luke, but he’s secretly pleased. The dread of Luke’s coming graduation and move up north had been building in the back of his mind. Keeping Luke close seemed like an impossible task, but now heaven was on his side this once. He looks over to see Luke’s eyes on him, looking betrayed like he can read Din’s thoughts.

“I’ve seen you drive past my place before,” old Ben says to Din, leaning forward on the bench.

“Yeah…” Din glances back at Luke, but he seems to be ignoring them, elbows deep in the hood. He sighs, trying to think of an explanation. The idea that Luke, the wholesome neighborhood kid, would be hanging with a gangbanger was sure to raise some questions. He internally shrugs and goes with the simplest truth. “We like to go to the races together.”

Ben strokes his hand down his beard, nodding. “Drag racing?”

Din nods, shifting in his boots. The old man smiles. “Your father used to drag race, you know. One of the best drivers in the state.”

At that, Luke pauses in his tinkering, and straightens up, face finally sporting something other than a scowl. “He was? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Ben laughs, “You never asked. He was very good. Used to build them himself. The first time I met him was after a big win. He was hardly ten years old.”

Din swivels his head from Luke to Ben, trying to absorb this new information. Luke never talked about this parents beyond a few terse explanations early on when they met. His mother had died in childbirth; his father had died in the war. It was the same story a good percentage of orphans could give in 1958. But apparently Luke’s neighbor wasn’t just some old veteran pottering about his little garden.

“Ten!” Luke exclaims. “How can he have been driving at ten?”

“Illegally, of course.” Ben sighs, shaking his head. “They were all illegal, back then. Must have been 1927. It was all orange groves and onion fields around here.”

Din watches Luke come alive again as Ben tells him story after story of his long-dead father. Anakin Skywalker was an intensely talented individual who flew fighter jets well before Pearl Harbor.

Din gets to know Luke’s new ride as he listens, surprised that Luke never mentioned his connection with old Ben before. But they didn’t spend much time gabbing about the past. Luke had only ever wanted to plot their future.

When they lose the light, and Luke has to turn on a few gas lanterns, Din stops tinkering. Aunt Beru’s voice comes drifting down from the house, calling Luke and Ben to Christmas dinner.

“You should join us,” Luke says, alight with stories of his father and joyful again. “They won’t mind if I bring a friend.” His hand drifts up Din’s arm to his shoulder, and Din sees Ben eye them for a moment before making his way out of the barn and up the path to the house.

Din clears his throat. “I’ve got to get back.” The disappointment of the day is less of a sting now and more of a sickening, floaty feeling. If Ben had been a visitor, some charitable invitation to a lonely neighbor, Din might’ve accepted. But apparently Luke’s family was larger than Din knew.

He goes to his bike and pulls out the present, feeling stupid now, but unwilling to drive away with it after so many months of work. Flustered, he pushes it into Luke’s hand and then crosses his arms across his chest, waiting to explain. Luke looks shocked and color stains his cheeks when he opens it. His eyes stare at the leather gloves a little too long, and Din feels like running away.

“It’s a tradition,” Din hurriedly explains. “We make them ourselves.”

“They’re like yours,” Luke breathes, holding one up to the flickering lamp light.

Din nods, swallowing around his embarrassment. “You don’t have to wear them. But. Yes, they’re what we wear.”

Luke’s eyes look up, finally, and they’re so big and serious. His hands fist around the leather tightly. “Thank you,” he whispers, almost reverently, and leans in close. Din exhales, unfolding his arms, ready to wind them around Luke’s waist when Beru’s voice calls out from the farm again.

“Luke? Luke!” Beru yells. They pull away from each other, Luke still clutching the gloves.

“I didn’t know I’d see you today,” Luke says softly. “Your present’s inside.”

“That’s okay.” Din tries not to feel giddy, tries to shake off the need to grab Luke and put him on his bike and drive away as fast as possible, possibly never to come back. “I’m gonna be gone for a while. I’ve got a job in San José.”

“Oh.” Luke looks disappointed. “When will you be back?”

Din shrugs, looks away. He settles a small smile on his face, hopes he looks cool and not a shaking mess underneath his sunglasses and leather.

“I’ll call you,” he says, then turns on his heel, fast, afraid of turning around and begging Luke to steal away with him, afraid Luke would say yes.

–

“Are the stars out tonight…sha bop sha bop… I don't know if it's cloudy or bright… sha bop sha bop…”

Luke moans low and quiet under him, dragging his nails lightly across Din’s scalp. Din turns his head, going for another kiss, while simultaneously dragging his thigh between Luke’s hips. The kid bucks up at the sensation, breaking their kiss with a gasp.

“I only have eyes… for you… dear…”

His mouth is swollen from what feels like hours of kissing in the back of Luke’s new car. What had started as Luke teasingly offering to recoup Din’s many rides around town, had led to back seat bingo at the passion pit, sequestered in the shadows of the California oak trees, drifting hands and fitting as close together as the backseat could accommodate.

“The moon may be high…sha bop sha bop… But I can’t see… sha bop sha bop… a thing in the sky…”

Luke pants start to get quicker, and his hands squeeze at Din’s hips. When Din kisses at his neck, he squirms, letting out a whine of frustration when their hips align, only building on the friction of their already arduous efforts.

“I only have eyes for you…”

“Din,” Luke groans after Din sucks a satisfactory bloom of red near Luke’s collarbone. “God, please. Please let me touch you.”

Din pulls back to meet his eyes. It’s been a long time coming, he supposes. Luke’s never so much as touched Din’s bare arm, let alone all that other love-making territory. The kid looks chagrined after he asks, bottom lip between his teeth, warring with his teenage hormones and desire to be respectful. It’s a pretty look on his face, if Din is being honest.

“I don't know if we're in a garden… Or on a crowded avenue… sha bop sha bop…”

He leans back onto his knees, staring down at his handiwork. All the pressed, ironed edges of Luke are rumbled, hair freed from pomade, collar askew, stomach exposed from a rucked up shirt. It’s only fair, he supposes. Slowly, he pinches the arm of his shades between his fingers and drags them off his face, careful to lay them down on the center console where they won’t be accidentally squashed. That unveiling alone makes Luke’s eyes go wide and color splash across his cheeks.

Emboldened, Din unzips and removes his jacket, resisting the urge to shiver against the chill, and lifts the hem of his shirt up and over his head before he can chicken out. Luke just stares, lips parted. He lifts a hand to brush at Din’s chest, fingers combing through the admittedly sparse chest hair.

“Heaven and earth,” Luke whispers and sits up. He pulls his own shirt up, his hair becoming even more askew as it slips off. Din fluffs it down, drawing Luke closer to him. Their noses bump, and Din pulls them together, letting out a breathy sigh when their skin touches.

“I only have eyes for you…”

Necking without barriers is enough to take the oxygen out of Din’s lungs. He can’t seem to suck in enough air or touch enough of the new territory available for his hands to wander. When his fingers find the nubs of Luke’s nipples and he shudders, Din tips him down again, intent on exploring more.

Luke beats him to it though, shifting until he can latch his mouth to Din’s nipple. Din keens, shocked at how good it feels. He feels Luke’s lips curl into a smile beneath him, and he continues to suck on one nipple, and then the other, until Din’s gone dizzy with want. He humps his aching cock up against Luke’s stomach and tugs at the hair he’d somehow got tangled in his fingers.

“Luke,” he wheezes, and pulls away again, fingers clumsy on his zip, desperate to be free of the confines of his tight jeans. Luke licks his lips and follows, both of them battling for space in the narrow backseat to get completely naked. Din pulls everything off in one pull, hissing at the feeling of his dick finally out in the open.

Luke has his pants halfway down his thighs when he freezes at the sight, eyes wide. “Jesus,” he blasphemes.

He sucks in a breath, and Din watches his pale chest bloom with splotchy red. Embarrassed, Din looks away from his face and helps him finish undressing, ending up with his back against the seat and Luke in his lap, both of them glancing down between their bellies at their cocks, free and lightly grazing each other.

Luke reaches down and touches Din, grasping him loosely and sliding his hand up the shaft, like he’s getting used to a new angle of something familiar. Din clenches his eyes shut at the shiver-inducing friction, too little to do much but increase his arousal by a million. He leans forward to lick at Luke’s collarbone, just to have something to focus on, while Luke plays with his cock.

Din eventually braves a hand down there too, teasing the top of Luke’s head, and their hands bump into each other. They freeze, Luke choking around a laugh, Din feeling like there’s no blood left in his head. Luke glances up at him and reads something on Din’s face, maybe his desperate need, maybe his insecurity. But whatever it is, it inspires some sort of determination, tongue trapped between his teeth as he reaches down and grabs both cocks in his hand.

Experimenting, he humps up into it, and they both let out a huff of air, surprised at the feeling, excited by the potential. Luke is leaking a lot of slick, more than Din usually does, and Din reaches down to touch it, to smear it all over. Then he joins Luke’s hand around their cocks and watches Luke lift up on his knees and come down again, while moving his hand.

The results are mind-blowing. Din’s legs start to shake with tension as Luke humps up again and again into their hands. His face is bright red and so beautiful Din wants to photograph it, pay someone to paint it for him. He squeezes Luke’s hip with his other hand, trying to keep him steady, trying not to blow his load right away, but the sensation and their earlier activities have got him too revved up.

He should be overwhelmed, Din thinks. He should be afraid to be so exposed, naked to his socks in the back of some car, parked off in the dark. He’s never so much as removed a glove for anyone else before. But Luke Skywalker, with his movie star face and powerful body has put a spell on him somehow. He’s flipped – gone crazy.

Luke goes up and down, again and again, looking more and more crazed with each fall, looking punched out when he comes down. It almost looks like he’s taking Din’s cock somewhere else other than his fist. Din swallows around the thought, feels his prick harden even more so, feels his balls pull up. God, to get to feel that, Luke around him, taking him, consuming him, having pleasure off of Din. It’s too much to think about, too much to dream.

He humps up, frantic at the idea, crushing them together, faster and faster, until he finally comes, pressing his face into Luke’s shoulder, teeth clenched tight and eyes shut around the strength of his orgasm. Luke gasps and his hand moves fast, newly slick with Din’s spunk, over and over until he follows over the crest, neck taught back and free hand gripping the back of Din’s neck so hard it should’ve been painful.

“Maybe millions of people go by… But they all disappear from view… And I only have eyes for you.”

After they’ve come down and cleaned up a little – Luke redonning his shorts, and Din back in his undershirt and jeans – Luke laughs. Din turns his head where it’s pillowed on Luke’s lap.

“What?” He drawls, nudging his nose into Luke’s belly.

Luke looks down, running his fingers through Din’s hair gently. “It’s past midnight. We missed it.”

“Oh,” Din says. “Well. Happy New Year, Luke.”

“Happy New Year, Din.”

Luke leans down to kiss him, a small thing that could’ve turned heated, young men that they are, but Luke straightens up to say, “1959. Finally, the end to this stupid decade. Good riddance.”

“It wasn’t so bad.”

Luke huffs. “Only thing that’s gone right in the last year was meeting you.”

Din frowns at that, hating that Luke feels that way, that he’s unhappy. But he’s known from the beginning that Luke is unsettled. It was probably what led him to kiss Din at the racetrack that first day.

“The next decade is gonna be when my real life happens,” Luke continues, eyes unfocused forward, dreaming about his future. “I’m gonna go fast, Din. I’m gonna go as fast as they let me and then some. Until no one can catch me and tell me to slow down.”

Din drifts his fingers up and down Luke’s arm, while the radio switches to the crooning Everley brothers, and wonders if he’ll be able to keep up.

—

“Keep your goddamn head down, Mando,” Ranzar hisses in his ear, fat hand shoving him down until Din’s hands find the ground. He peers around the wreckage, hand tight around his piece, trying to see through the thick fog.

They’d traced the mark to the docks, following close behind for two days now. The guy knew he was in trouble, never resting for long. The bounty on him is the biggest Din’s seen so far, and he wondered out loud what he did to be so valuable. Ranzar had just laughed at him.

“When you’ve been in the game long enough, kid, you’ll see it’s the people who do the least that seem to be worth the most.”

The mark finally emerges from the building they’d been staking for half an hour, holding a duffle and looking remarkably cheery. Ranzar gives him the signal, and he follows, creeping behind him, gun up, until Ranzar has the guy cornered and screaming with a knife in his hand.

“You’re done, friend,” Ranzar says, looking almost bored. “We’ve got you two to one. Might as well go easy and keep your life.”

“Fuck you!” the man spits, and makes a swing at Ranzar, duffle bag and knife clumsily swinging forward. He’s dead before either one makes contact.

He just crumbles to the ground, like a branch suddenly clipped from a tree, lifeless and still. Din stares, gun still tight in against his palm, when Ranzar squats in front of the body, checking it for god knows what. Blood is starting to puddle around them, and Din watches it seep around the concrete to the toes of his boots.

“Jesus, kid, is this your first time seeing a dead body?”

Din’s head snaps to Ranzar’s face. No, it isn’t, he thinks. But the last time he saw some, he knew what their faces looked like lit up with smiles and laughter. The last time, he saw what killed them and wondered why he didn’t die too.

“Help me,” Ranzar says, a little less gruff than before, and Din snaps back to himself, holstering his gun and helping lift the body off the ground. Even between two men, dragging a bloody body up the docks to a waiting van was hard work.

There’s still bile in his throat when he gets home the next night, burning up into his mouth, taking over his senses.

The Armorer is waiting for him outside the house and watches him park his bike. She looks golden in the sodium light circle in the driveway. Din stops just long enough to pull the duffle full of money off his shoulder and hand it to her.

“You’ve done well,” she says, eyes shadowed beneath her serene brow. “This will sponsor many.”

Din nods. He was sponsored once. It was The Way they did things. The cycle of bringing kids in and supporting the gang. It was always going to be his fate.

He pushes at his shades and walks up the drive.

—

“No way,” Luke laughs, covering his face with a gloved hand. “Why would he do that?”

Din grins and leans back in the diner booth, hearing the vinyl squeak beneath his leather clad body. “He was looking for the mouse,” he says and watches Luke dissolve into giggles, elbows nearly knocking his Coke over.

Din revels in it, the power to make Luke Skywalker’s laugh so hard his eyes water. Lately, it has become a distinct priority, drawing out joy when Luke seemed more and more anxious as the winter weeks became spring. He’d been especially edgy the last week or so, stalling out on a frustrating car mod and getting stranded at the farm as a result.

Din had picked him up on his bike and brought him downtown for a race, figuring a little time at the dragstrip might liven up his spirits. Luke became the kid he met all those months ago, bright, cheering like a loon. He’d grabbed Din’s arm a few times in the excitement, squeezing his forearm when the finish was close.

By the time they cut the late-night scene, they were famished, and the little 24/7 diner looked good enough for a bite. Quite a few grease monkeys and their girls were packed in, drinking coffee spiked with flasks when the tired-eyed waitress wasn’t looking.

It’s not the kind of scene you’d expect a square like Biggs to show up in, especially with two old biddies behind him. But there he is, tall mustache and loafers, guiding an old man and his wife past the whistles and whispers of the surrounding JD’s.

Luke’s back is to the door, so Din thinks they might not see each other, but Biggs spies them and does a double-take. Luke is in his disguise, jacket and gloves, hair combed in a ducktail, but Biggs picks him out of the crowd anyways. He looks surprised and then concerned, swiftly walking over.

“Luke?” he asks, after eyeballing Din distastefully. “Whatcha doin all the way downtown?”

If Luke feels caught out, he doesn’t show it. He just gives a tight smile up at his friend and folds his hands on the table.

“Went to a race,” he shrugs, careful and controlled. Biggs’ face goes pinched. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Mom’s birthday. We went to the opera tonight. I told you about it.”

Luke ducks his head at this, looking down at his hands. Biggs’ frown turns to Din.

“Dad wanted some coffee before we drove home.” When neither of them replies, Biggs huffs and crosses his arms.

“Want a ride?” He directs at the top of Luke’s head.

Din squints behind his shades. “He’s got a ride.”

Luke snaps his eyes up to Din. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

“It’s late. Come on. Your friend here doesn’t want to drive all the way back to Bakersfield.”

Luke’s face twists, and Din watches his resolve begin to melt away. Of course. Din forgets sometimes, when they’ve been together all day, and Luke’s hand has secretly found his a half a dozen times, that he’ll never get what he really wants. Luke will never be fully his, not ever. The reminder stings.

“It’s cool,” Din says, after taking a drink of his coffee. “I’ll catch you some other time.”

A flicker of hurt comes into Luke’s eyes before he slides out of the booth, rooting around for his wallet. When Din waves him away, Luke’s hands tighten suddenly in his gloves. He turns and leaves without saying goodbye, heading over to Biggs’ family.

Biggs lingers, watching Luke walk away, then turning to say something to Din. Din steels himself, waiting for all the familiar rebukes, but something like pity slides into Biggs’ expression.

“He’s never gonna be happy here with us, ya know,” Biggs says.

Din runs his tongue along his teeth. “Don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. He’s talked about running away since we were kids. You and I are stuck. But Luke…”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

Biggs gives him a sad smile and shakes his head. Din watches them through the condensation dripped window as they get into a station wagon and drive away.

—

In 1928, Anakin Skywalker won 23 victories in the new open Bugatti Type 35B with an eight-cylinder engine.

Known as the “flying Jedi”, the newspaper clipping says, Skywalker had begun his career so young he’d had to lie about his age on the entry form. He’d joined a team with record-holder Qui-Gon Jinn in the late twenties, but disappeared from the scene during the depression.

There was no obituary, no marriage announcement, no record of a man called Skywalker who fought as a fighter pilot during the war. Hot Rod listed him as an old legend, some young kid from nowhere who’d disappeared from racing as quickly as he arrived.

—

There’s still snow on the ground in Milwaukee in April. Not the fluffy, fresh kind he’s seen on Christmas cards, but muddy, hard masses of old snow that melt every afternoon and freeze over again at night. Unrelenting sleet blows in the late winter winds, and after weeks of tracking his mark, he starts to wonder if he’ll ever warm up again.

By the time he’s collected his bounty, Din is convinced he’s half-frozen, and that he might not make it back to Los Angeles alive. He should’ve stopped in the deserts in Nevada. He should’ve let Las Vegas’s hot air breathe life back into his lungs.

When he’s standing outside of the farmhouse, dead on his feet from two days of no sleep, he realizes the only warmth he wants is upstairs in a cowboy-papered bedroom.

“Din?” Luke calls out sleepily when he slips in through the window, trying to keep quiet. Luke sits up a little, rumpled in a tangle of sheets. It makes Din smile a little. Seeing him is already enough to make his hands feel less numb.

“Hi,” he whispers back, and puts a knee on the bed, reaching out to cup Luke’s sleepy face.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah. Just. Wanted to see you.”

Luke smiles, leaning into Din’s hand. “Oh,” he breathes out. He tugs at Din, until he’s fully on the bed, wrapping his arms around Luke, settled behind his back.

“My boots,” he whispers into the curve of Luke’s ear, but Luke just pats his hand.

“It’s okay,” he says, tucking himself further into Din’s chest. He’s as comforting as a hot water bottle, a radiator of perfect warmth. Din pulls off his shades so he can press his face into the back of Luke’s neck.

“It’s okay.”

–

Someone shakes him awake, grip hard on his leather-clad shoulder. Din blinks blearily up at whoever it is, realizing, with tight panic, that his shades are off, tucked into his pocket for safekeeping. Luke’s room is still dark. Dawn isn’t far off, but, of course, farm folk are always up early.

It’s Luke’s aunt, Beru. She puts a finger to her mouth, signaling to him to not wake Luke, and indicates out the door. On his way out, he shoves his shades back on his face and tries to come up with the best excuses.

Beru leads him downstairs to the kitchen, where yellow wallpaper is interrupted by old wood shelves bowing with rows of canned goods. Beru grabs a glass from a cabinet and fills it with fresh milk, handing it to Din like it was something they do regularly.

Din sips it, thankful for something cool on his tongue at least, but understanding the gesture for what it is. There’s coffee on the stove, but the woman gave him milk. She stares tired eyes into his shades, one hand on an apron-clad hip.

“I had a long drive home,” Din begins to explain. “For a job. And I got tired, so I thought I would crash here.”

She looks down at the old wood floors. “But it’s not your first time sleeping here.”

It’s not a question. Din just stares, unsure what to say. He sends a thought upstairs, hoping Luke will wake up and rescue him from this conversation.

“You know, when Ben brought him here, I was his age. Barely nineteen. We’d only been married a few months.”

Din stares at her. Outside, a rooster crows.

“It was a bad time to be a farmer’s wife. Luke wasn’t weaned. There were days we went without food so the cow could eat. So that Luke would have enough milk.”

Her blue eyes lift up again, and she takes a step closer to Din. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

Yes, Din understands. Just like he understands why Owen gave Luke a pile of scraps instead of a car. Why he asks him to stay back from college, just one more year.

“I’m trying to help him,” Din says, surprised by his own candor. “He’s pent up.”

Beru sighs. “I know Luke. I’ve seen him break his heart over and over. I knew his father too. Same affliction.”

Her mouth goes to a hard line. “This is the only job I’ve ever had: caring for that young man. And I’ll be damned before I let him die in a car crash or run away to the army.

“I know Owen seems harsh. But Luke’s all we have. We never had any children of our own. And he’s been champing at the bit since he could walk.”

She closes the distance between them, holding a warm hand that lands on his shoulder. “Please,” she says, “make him listen. Help him settle for a little while. I think you might make that easier.”

–

Luke’s excuse for missing the races this weekend is the last thing Din expects to hear.

“Prom?”

“Yeah, a few of my friends are going together.”

“What the hell, Luke,” Din gripes.

His head is pounding. He’s been awake for almost 32 hours; he should’ve been in bed already. But as usual, all he can think about is Luke, wondering when he can get his hands on him again. He’d walked in the house and dialed Luke’s number before even dropping off his bag.

“You gonna dance with some frilly queen all night instead of going out with me?”

Luke is silent, maybe shocked by Din’s outburst, more likely gathering a response with his hackles up. Din sighs, loud enough for Luke to hear over the receiver.

“It’s just a stupid tradition,” Luke says finally. Din can detect the annoyed edge in his voice. “Beru wants to see me go, and I don’t see the harm.”

His voice comes quieter, like he has to conceal his voice. “Mara and I are just pals, honest.”

Din tries to swallow past the something clogging his throat. It feels overwhelming - he should be in control of it. But it washes over him anyway.

Mara. Some pretty broad with shiny hair, no doubt. She probably lied to Luke and knew he was ripe for the picking. She saw that handsome face and imagined white fences and big breakfasts with half a dozen anklebiters. Din can picture it too. Some lily-white girl in blue tulle, drawing close to Luke on the dance floor, hope in her eyes, asking him for something without saying it. Begging for kisses she doesn’t know belong to someone else.

Din’s grips the receiver so tight he can hear the plastic squeak. “Fine. Do what you want. Have a nice little time.”

He hangs up more violently than necessary, making the internal bell shiver.

Paz is in the kitchen, of course, rooting around the fridge. Din pushes past him to the sink, desperately thirsty.

“What’s bugging you?” Paz says through a mouthful of cold rice. Din grunts in response and drains a glass of water, just to refill it again.

“It’s not that blondie is it? Jesus Mando, you’re flipped.”

Din doesn’t know what it is, maybe the way Paz is leaning against the counter, chewing with his mouth open, maybe it's the lingo, but the next thing he knows, he’s got Paz under him, and his nose is cracked and bloody.

“You’re cracked, you know that?” Paz screams when some strong arms pull Din away.

“At least I can take a punch,” Din spits at him, straining forward.

“Oh, I bet you love getting punched by that fairy,” Paz shoots back, but before Din can react, the Armorer enters. Everyone stills, Paz and the other gang members who came to his aid.

She looks between them, calm and careful as always. “What’s happened here?“

“This coward sucker-punched me!” Paz bellows.

She crosses her arms. “He chose a life that serves this family. He works as a bounty hunter, providing for those who live in this house. Is that the choice of a coward?”

Paz glares at Din over the top of his shades. She turns back to Din.

“Have you ever betrayed the family?”

“No.”

“Will you ever forsake your duty?”

“Never.”

“This is the Way,” she says, looking around to the other gang members. Paz wipes a hand under his nose, still glaring at Din.

“This is the Way,” the others repeat. Din rips his shoulder away from their hold.

She turns her head to Din, waiting for his response. He clenches his already bruising knuckles.

“This is The Way,” he says, then turns and walks away.

–

Exactly 200 years ago, Juan Gaspar de Portola explored the Pacific Coast, the book says. His route became the King’s Highway, El Camino Real, eventually connecting the twenty-one missions that would start western thinking in California.

It was permanently paved out in 1926, a roadway for the new motor carriages, connecting San Diego to Washington State - Highway 101, winding through mountains and barreling past coastal cities.

There’s plans to expand the lanes, the book cites, and bring it up to US highway standards. But for now it still stretches the same path Portola took, when pine trees and Native American settlements were all that stretched along the Golden Coast.

If Din floors it all the way, he can drive 392 miles in 6 hours. If traffic is amenable, he could make it with two tanks of gas and still have hours left in the day. The Kings Road would connect them - a reliable, ancient route, between LA and Stanford University.

It doesn’t seem like much distance, when he closed his eyes at night.

—

“What happened to your knuckles?” Luke asks once he’s helped Din remove his gloves. It’s an inconvenient moment, Din thinks, trapped beneath Luke’s thighs, already aching between his hips from nearly an hour of necking. But Luke looks genuinely concerned, and he’s never been much good at lying to him.

“Just a fight,” Din explains, shifting his hands to Luke’s thighs and inching up to the hard line of his cock. Luke definitely quivers at the contact, but isn’t distracted. He presses Din’s knuckles to his lips and gives them a soft kiss.

“Who won?” Luke asks.

“Me, of course.”

“Oh? You never lose fights?”

“Never.”

“Hmm. I wonder if I could beat you.”

Din should’ve known better, but a scoff escapes his lips. Luke’s eyes are suddenly sharp.

“I can hold my own, Din Djarin.”

Din smiles weakly, trying to placate. “I’m sure it would be an interesting fight.”

Suddenly, the delicious heat that he’d been enjoying for the last hour leaves Din’s body, and Luke is sitting back, glaring at him from across the backseat.

“I was on the wrestling team for two years, you know,” Luke says. “I know I’m on the small side, but I’ve been working on the farm since I could hold a sack of feed.”

Din shrugs, dizzy with the sudden change in the mood. “You’re right,” he says, licking his lips and leaning forward, but Luke’s hand comes up to Din’s chest, stopping him.

“Do you actually believe that?” he asks. “That I can hold my own?”

“In a fist fight? Sure.”

“But not what you do.”

Din stares at him. He avoids talking about his job as much as he can. It doesn’t feel right, bringing all that muck and blood into Luke’s innocent world.

“No,” he says. “But you’ll never have to worry about that.” He’ll make sure of that, he doesn’t say.

Luke scoffs, wrinkling his nose. “You think I’m such a baby. Just like everyone else.”

“Who? Your aunt and uncle? They’re always gonna feel that way. They raised you.”

“Well I’m sick of it!” Luke yells, throwing up his hands. “Ben says I’m just as talented as my father was at my age.”

“Ben?” Din frowns. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“He believes in me. He knows that I’m… I’m meant to do something big in my life.”

Luke scoots forward, letting his knee knock against Din’s. “He’s been telling me all this stuff. About what he and my dad did. What they were a part of. He wants me to join too.”

Great, Din thinks, the old man is trying to take advantage of Luke’s discontentment.
He shakes his head.

“Luke, he’s just trying to relive his glory days or something. Don’t let him recruit you into some weird shit.”

Luke rears back and scowls at him. “Right. Because being devoted to an organization, doing whatever they ask of you – that’s crazy.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Din snaps at him. He turns his face away, wishes he hadn’t taken off his shades, wishes he had something to hide behind right now.

Luke sighs. Outside a car swishes past them on the mountain road, lighting up their dark hideout for a moment.

“Let’s just go,” Luke finally says, voice soft. “I’ve got enough gas to get to San Diego. We could keep going ‘til we hit Mexico, ‘til we find a beach that suits us.”

Din bites down on his tongue when the longing for just that, an escape, makes his head feel light. It would be so, so easy. He glances up at Luke’s earnest expression, already penantant and begging for forgiveness. This quick-tempered kid who’s meant for big things – bigger than Din.

“Nah,” he replies. “Gotta get you up north to ivy-covered walls so you can start building your rocket.”

Luke smiles at him, but it’s sad.

—

He knows he should go home first. He needs to report in, deliver the money, and patch up his cuts with more than just the gauze in his first aid kit. But the last time he saw Luke still grates on him. Din’s been replaying their argument in his mind over and over, trying to come up with answers to the things they talk around.

He’d tried calling before he headed back to LA, desperate to hear Luke’s voice, but the operator told him the number had been disconnected for some reason. Confused, he asked for the Lars' new number, but the operator had no information. It could be nothing, but it adds to Din’s anxiety as he starts his drive home.

The drive seems to go on forever, warm spring wind whipping past him as he maneuvers his bike along the last few miles. The sky is hazy, thick with smog. In the distance he sees huge clouds growing above the mountains, promising cleansing rain, teasingly close.

There’s something building in his mind too, words that make his throat ache. Something he should say to Luke. It doesn’t matter where you go, Din thinks it starts. ‘I love you’ won’t cut it. It’s grown beyond that somehow.

I’ll follow you up north, across oceans, to a beach or the moon. Just let me go with you. Let me be there to see you shine and grow bigger and stronger and brighter.

With every mile that blows past him, the need to say these things grows stronger. Nothing else matters. Not his work, not what he owes the Watch. They’ll find a way to make it work. He knows they can. They can do anything, as long as they’re together.

He rounds the bend to the lane that leads to the farm house, and revs, eager to make it the last mile as fast as possible, not caring if Beru and Owen and old Ben hear him coming. Let them hear. Let them see the man who loves Luke Skywalker more than the earth, more than the sky.

A strange detritus sprinkles on his visor, and he wipes at it, expecting tree pollen, and watching it crumble on his glove. Ash. There’s ash in the air. When he careens past Ben’s farm more ash blows past him.

He stops at the end of the drive, nearly crashing with how fast he has to brake. Because there’s nowhere else to go. Yellow police tape twists limply in the wind across the gate. Beyond it, there’s nothing but blackened earth and the charred outline of the familiar structures.

Din rips his helmet from his head, shocked. He ducks under the police tape and runs up the drive, hardly believing his eyes. Everything is just… gone. The house, the chicken coop, even the barn, burned to the ground, with nothing left to pick through.

Another gust lifts up ash and it swirls around him, like a miniature tornado. Din’s throat fills with bile. He walks backward, away from the black ground, away from the nothingness. He finds his bike fallen over on the ground, where he forgot to engage the kickstand. Righting it, he wheels it down the lane to Kenobi’s house.

Din pounds on the door, heart beating frantically. But no one answers, and a cursory look around the outbuildings shows that the old man’s car is gone. Three newspapers lay in a pile on the driveway.

Din stands in the lane, confusion and anxiety swirling around in his head. It explained the disconnected phone. Maybe Luke had tried to call him at home, but heard he was out on a job.
It’s Wednesday, he thinks, as he hops back on his bike. Yearbook committee. Luke would be finishing up just about now.

He rolls through every stop sign to get to the center of town, earning a few honks and angry looks from pedestrians. The sun is setting when he makes it to the school and parks his bike. Biggs is there, right at the base of the steps, watching him with wary eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Bigg asks when he’s made his way over to Din.

“Looking for Luke,” Din says, frowning.

Biggs’ eyebrows come together. “You don’t know?”

Din shakes his head. “I saw the farm. Where did they go?”

Biggs takes a step closer. “I thought… Everyone thought he was with you. That you two ran off.”

Din stares at him, trying to understand. “Luke ran away?”

“Yeah. The police are looking for him. They’re looking for you too.”

Din’s palms are sweaty under his gloves. He can’t seem to get his breath to even out. “I’ve been out of state. I had a job.”

“You really didn’t know?”

“No! What the hell happened?”

Biggs looks down at the ground. “A week ago the farm burned down in the middle of the night. They… Beru and Owen… they were still inside.”

Din’s mouth falls open. “But Luke got out?”

“Ben Kenobi got him out. I saw them – I drove over as soon as I heard. But Luke didn’t want to talk to me. And then.. The next morning they were both gone.”

“Maybe they went up North. He got into Stanford.” Din’s voice sounds far off somehow, like he’s outside of himself.

Biggs shakes his head, and he slumps forward, looking pained. “I don’t think so. I– I tried to convince him. We fought about it, honestly… but he was talking about the military. Something to do with Ben and his father…”

Din turns and grabs his helmet, pulling it over his face quickly. He straddles his motorcycle and turns the key, but he’s not sure where he’s going. He idles, hand on the clutch.

“You won’t find him,” Biggs says from his left. “He’s gone. He was always going to leave.”

A flash of a broken dream erupts in Din’s mind. A beach, turquoise waves, his hand reaching for Luke’s in the sand, and finding it missing. He’s alone on miles of empty shoreline.

Din squeezes the clutch, revs his bike, and launches down the road.