[company] PG-13: Ferus, OCs
Disclaimer: George Lucas owns Star Wars. I am not making any profit from this work of fan fiction.
Author's note: Makesh/Gerald rescue fic for estora. Gerald is her OC. I'm just taking him for a ride. And so is Makesh. Probably. ^_~
[company]
“I told you not to get caught,” says a familiar voice, and Makesh squints into wavering light, trying to bring the blurry figure into focus.
“Gerald?” he croaks, a dozen forbidden fantasies fluttering through his aching mind.
A strong arm slides behind his shoulders, lifting him.
Makesh gasps in pain and falls back, broken ribs grating.
“Sh,” says that voice again, and this time it’s right by his ear, and a shadow blocks that horrible migraine-inducing light, and Makesh pries his eyes open and looks straight into Gerald Su’Lac’s square-jawed face.
“Gerald?” he says again, his heart clenching, and Gerald smiles his hard smile.
“Right here,” he says. “Come on, you dirty bastard. We don’t have time to take our leisure.”
Makesh can’t help laughing, though it wracks pain through his battered chest. “You said you weren’t coming after me,” he rasps, hearing the weakness in his own voice, thready with pain.
“I came for the chrono,” Gerald says, glancing at the borrowed time-keeper on Makesh’s wrist, a little scratched, and laughter defies his failing strength again.
“It’s not my style anyway,” Makesh says, and lets Gerald cradle him to his feet.
“Ferus!” yells a feminine voice somewhere outside. “We’re going to have company!”
“Damn it,” swears another voice, also eerily familiar. Makesh sways in Gerald’s grip and manages to focus on a face he hasn’t seen in years. The boy is taller, and leaner, and harder around the edges, but ...
“Olin,” he says, too exhausted to bother with surprise.
“Good to see you again,” Ferus Olin says, and leans out to cast a wary glance down the corridor. “Looks like Orun’s distraction wore off. Move!”
Wait, what? “Ryn?” Makesh gasps, limping along on Gerald’s shoulder. “The princess? She’s here?”
“It’s a long story,” Gerald mutters. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“I believe you,” Makesh gasps, and throws all his remaining strength into a shambling run.
Author's note: Makesh/Gerald rescue fic for estora. Gerald is her OC. I'm just taking him for a ride. And so is Makesh. Probably. ^_~
[company]
“I told you not to get caught,” says a familiar voice, and Makesh squints into wavering light, trying to bring the blurry figure into focus.
“Gerald?” he croaks, a dozen forbidden fantasies fluttering through his aching mind.
A strong arm slides behind his shoulders, lifting him.
Makesh gasps in pain and falls back, broken ribs grating.
“Sh,” says that voice again, and this time it’s right by his ear, and a shadow blocks that horrible migraine-inducing light, and Makesh pries his eyes open and looks straight into Gerald Su’Lac’s square-jawed face.
“Gerald?” he says again, his heart clenching, and Gerald smiles his hard smile.
“Right here,” he says. “Come on, you dirty bastard. We don’t have time to take our leisure.”
Makesh can’t help laughing, though it wracks pain through his battered chest. “You said you weren’t coming after me,” he rasps, hearing the weakness in his own voice, thready with pain.
“I came for the chrono,” Gerald says, glancing at the borrowed time-keeper on Makesh’s wrist, a little scratched, and laughter defies his failing strength again.
“It’s not my style anyway,” Makesh says, and lets Gerald cradle him to his feet.
“Ferus!” yells a feminine voice somewhere outside. “We’re going to have company!”
“Damn it,” swears another voice, also eerily familiar. Makesh sways in Gerald’s grip and manages to focus on a face he hasn’t seen in years. The boy is taller, and leaner, and harder around the edges, but ...
“Olin,” he says, too exhausted to bother with surprise.
“Good to see you again,” Ferus Olin says, and leans out to cast a wary glance down the corridor. “Looks like Orun’s distraction wore off. Move!”
Wait, what? “Ryn?” Makesh gasps, limping along on Gerald’s shoulder. “The princess? She’s here?”
“It’s a long story,” Gerald mutters. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“I believe you,” Makesh gasps, and throws all his remaining strength into a shambling run.