Sole Survivor by LindaMarie A long time ago in a galaxy far far away... Damon was a bounty hunter. He wore a sleek black bantha-skin jumpsuit and had a platinum bar through the middle of his nose. His forehead was tattooed with the word that means "death" in the language of the yssana tribe--a gift of initiation by those people of Ossus, who taught him to extend the Power of the Force beyond the minds of others, into the physical realm. Sometimes, like the night when he was in some disgustingly shiny clean drinking establishment on Coruscant, getting wasted on Twi'lek liqueur because the godforsaken place didn't serve the cheap stuff and he was stuck there spying on his latest target, a diplomat who'd gotten his hands in too many honeypots and made some serious enemies along the way, Damon would think back to the only one he ever let escape. Solo. No one else stood their ground when he lifted his laserpistol and bared his teeth. No one else smiled and shifted his hips and looked so calm, like he got threatened with death every day--which he did, but that was beside the point. No one else slid his thumbs inside his own beltloops and said, "Hell, you don't want to kill me; you want to fuck me. So let's get out of here, huh?" And Damon always said he'd get him some other day, but it was years later, and still every time they met he never even got the chance to pull the trigger before it was all soft hair and rough stubble and hot hot mouth. He tried not to take it too hard, but sometimes it got him down. Fin.