This is a work of fanfiction. Star Wars is the property of George Lucas and LFL. No profits were made and no disrespect is intended with this fic.

My Month with the Gods
Part Twenty-three
by Banshee


Luke led us to the lift that would take us to his transport. As soon as the doors closed, I slipped my arms around Wedge's waist and leaned comfortingly against him, resting my head on his shoulder. In return, he pulled me close and nuzzled my ear playfully.

I could feel the drug starting to take hold again, fueled by the proximity of the three exceptional male specimens. My hands began to travel south toward Wedge's hips as his nuzzling began to get heated.

Before we could get much further, Luke and Tycho took hold of our arms just above the elbow and pulled us apart, chuckling. "OK, you two," Luke mock-scolded.

I could feel Tycho's body-heat in the enclosed space, concentrated around his hand on my arm. With an evil grin, I backed up and rubbed against him. All I could think of was the exceptional body near me; the drug insuring that I wasn't much concerned about to whom it belonged.

"Sandy!?!" Startled, he jumped back, pushing me away with his hands on my shoulders. I took advantage of his loosened grip and turned quickly to face him.

Behind me, Wedge growled low in his throat, obviously not enjoying the show. Luke had him by both arms now and I could hear sounds of a struggle. The lift stopped when bodies fell against the controls with a muffled "mmmffph".

Tycho continued backing up until he came in contact with the lift wall, trying to keep me at arm's length with outstretched hands. As I moved closer, he tried stoically to restrain without hurting but with the drug in my system, I easily overpowered his reigned-in strength.

"Ah, Luke.... Could use a little help here," Tycho called plaintively to the Jedi.

"Sorry, Tych... I kinda... mff... have my hands full right now."

I chuckled seductively in his ear at Luke's response. "What's the matter, Colonel?" I cooed.

The next few seconds were a confused jumble of sensations -- the thump of a body hitting the floor; the coppery tang of blood in my mouth; a Corellian oath, sounding distinctly out-of-place with an Alderaanian accent -- as I again blacked out.


Continued in Part Twenty-Four