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Coruscant has so many gay bars, Luke thinks that for the first time in his whole life there might be an actual, reasonable chance he’ll get laid. There are options, at least theoretically, and that's honestly something that’s never happened before. He went from Tattooine (where there was nothing but sand) to Hoth (where there was nothing but snow), but now, he's been sent on a month long mission to Coruscant, where there’s diversity and nightlife and culture. And most importantly, men. Men who want other men, not in secret, but out in the open and in crowded bars with flashing multi-colored lights and billows of smoke and thudding music, and that sort of honesty might be the kick in the pants Luke needs to turn his long-burning and wistful fantasies into a concrete reality.
Luke has known pretty much since he hit puberty that he’s gay, but that fact was somewhat meaningless a long as he was stuck somewhere like a moisture farm in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t matter that he knew who he was, he couldn’t do anything about it on the outer rim. He’s been waiting for a moment like this, but now that it’s happening, he’s actually sort of terrified. He’s twenty years old and he’s never kissed a guy in his entire life, let alone gone to an actual gay bar in a metropolitan area and tried to pick someone up. He knows he should take advantage of the situation, but he has no idea at all where to even start.
He could ask Chewie for help, but then he’d run the risk of Chewie telling Han what he was up to, and there’s nothing more mortifying than the idea of Han giving him a hard time for being a virgin and needling into his ribs even more than he already does.
The thing is, aside from maybe having sex in the first place, Luke also has a chance at getting over Han Solo on Coruscant, which would be fucking amazing. It’s terrible to be in love with a guy who dismissively calls him junior, a guy who’s smile is so bright and conspiratorial and sharp-edged and lazy all at once it feels like shooting yourself into the sun just to look at it. Luke would love to refocus his vast depth of desire to a viable option, instead of Han Solo, who presumably views him as his annoying and occasionally charming little brother.
So, the second he has a chance to explore the city between rebel rendezvous and secret meetings, he makes plans to go to the gay bar closest to his hotel even though the mere thought of it makes his stomach turn with anxiety. He wears his nicest trousers and his leather jacket and combs his hair, and sneaks out of the hotel past Han and Chewie’s room as stealthily as possible. He can just hear the delighted amusement that would color Han’s voice if he caught Luke sneaking out all cleaned up, and he’s not sure he can actually survive the combined humiliation and arousal he’d feel about that, so it’s imperative Han doesn’t see him. The success of his night depends on it.
Unfortunately for Luke, he’s so caught up in avoiding Han Solo he fails to even notice a group of his fellow rebel troops in civvies crowded around the lobby. “Skywalker!” one shouts, grabbing his shoulder just before he backs right into her. He spins around, eyes wide and guilty as they fall on Mendez, ruddy-cheeked general with sandy brown hair and a pale scar through her eyebrow. “Are you going out too? Me and the rest of the squadron were gonna hit the town. You’re welcome to join us if you’re not about to meet someone else, we’d love to have you. It would be a real honor.”
And Luke is so desperate to belong and have friends and family and be accepted as a real member of the Rebellion that he doesn’t even think twice before agreeing. The truth is, he’s actually sort of relieved he doesn't have to venture alone into a gay bar and pretend to be cosmopolitan enough to seduce some sleek, sexy politician’s son in fancy Coruscant clothes. So, he follows Mendez and her squadron to roof-top bar in the middle of the city and gets drunker than he’s ever been in his entire life.
—-
It’s not even his fault. The bar is very expensive, with circular glass tables and levitating chandelier style heat lamps and drinks so artistic and elaborate with their fruit spears and foam reductions and herb blends he can hardly taste the alcohol. Plus, everyone keeps buying them for him, clapping him on the shoulder and toasting him like he’s some sort of hero. And it feels really good, being dizzy and warm-cheeked and appreciated, so he keeps accepting the drinks and throwing them back, compulsively nervous-drinking without considering how that might end up for him. He’s thinking about Han too much anyway, the way sweat collects in the hollow off his throat, the way he sometimes reaches for Luke’s hair and sifts his fingers through it rough and sweet. But Luke is having a good time and he doesn’t want to think about Han, not right now. So he drinks, and he drinks, and before he knows it, the Coruscant skyline is spinning around him like he’s a fixed point in the middle of the galaxy, and Mendez is his best friend in the whole wide world.
They’re sitting at one of the little glass tables together, and Luke is sipping on something blue with a pale, incandescent layer of fizzy meringue on top of it that tastes like medicine and pureed weeds. Mendez keeps exclaiming how glad she is that he came out with the squadron, and he keeps apologizing for not doing it sooner after whole-heartedly agreeing. “I get it though,” she slurs, slapping him on the back hard enough he coughs. “Bet it’s sort of awkward for you after everything that happened, like, you didn’t ask to be a war hero, and suddenly you were! That’s crazy. Bet it’s almost annoying to have everyone hanging all over you and treating you different.”
“It’s like—yeah, totally, it’s weird,” Luke agrees, sucking down more bitter, boozy foam. “But there are nice parts,” like meeting Han Solo he thinks without saying it, hating himself immediately for even letting it cross his mind. “Getting free drinks. People being nice to me. I was like, a nobody before this. I lived on a farm. All my friends were droids, but …now you guys want to be my friends! It’s—its great.”
She snorts, taking a sip of her bubbly pink wine, which Luke suspects tastes significantly better than whatever he’s drinking. “Yeah, and I bet getting girls is easy. Maybe I should blow up a Imperial base, improve my chances.”
Luke is too drunk to remember why he didn’t want to tell people he’s gay, so before he can remember he blurts, “Well, you can have them, I don’t even notice. I don’t like girls. I mean! I do. I like girls, like, as friends. I think you’re great, and Leia’s great, and I. You know. But I don’t want to date girls,” he explains messily. “I wish I had guys throwing themselves at me,” he mumbles then, sagging onto the table wit a miserable sigh, the ache of loving Han stinging in his throat.
Mendez laughs, messing up his hair just how Han does, solidifying how fucking patronizing that gesture is. “That explains a lot about you,” says, calling over the bartender. “Hey! Another for my friend.”
Luke should say no; he's aware that he’s in over his head and hurtling towards some mortifying end, but all he can think about is how fucking good it feels to be free and to just say whatever he’s thinking with no fear of consequence. “Thank you,” he says gratefully, casting his gaze on Mendez with some difficulty since there are two of her and it takes few seconds for the shapes to fuse. “You know, I was gonna go to a gay bar tonight, and try to find a guy. But then you found me in the lobby and I didn’t. It’s probably for the better, I don't know anything about anything. I wouldn’t know what to do in a gay bar. I’d make a fool of myself.”
“I’m no expert, but I think you’re supposed to like…dance with guys?” she suggests, shrugging. “You’re cute, you can’t have that much trouble—”
“I have so much trouble!” Luke slurs, throwing his arms up into the air clumsily, cursing the while starry black sky over the city. “Did you know, I haven’t even ever kissed a guy before? Not once! If I was at a gay bar I bet I’d just stand by the wall feeling weird and wanting to leave. Thinking about some other guy I’ll never have because he doesn’t want me because I don’t even know how to kiss.”
“Skywalker,” Mendez says solemnly then, shaking her head and reaching out, steadying Luke with a hand on his shoulder. “We need to get you laid.”
And that’s how the whole rebel fleet finds out about Luke’s virginity and takes it upon themselves to do something about it.
—-
Luke barely remembers his conversation with Mendez when he wakes up. In fact, he barely remembers anything save for stars and sugar-sweet, frilly looking drinks he can still sort of taste the recycled versions of on his tongue. He doesn't remember how he got back to his hotel, and he certainly doesn’t remember throwing up, but it’s very clear from the trash can next to him and the sore, burning feeling in his throat that he spent the better part of the night retching. He feels terrible and headachey, but mostly very embarassed. He does not like the idea of having done things he doesn't remember doing. As soon as he chokes down some water and room service breakfast and drags himself out of bed, he tries his hardest to find Mendez.
He runs into two members of her squadron before he finds her, and they all tell him how much fun they had last night, how glad they are he came out with them, which is highly alarming since he neither recalls their names or faces.
“Let’s do one of your bars next time, yeah? You’re too cute to be a virgin,” one says, shooting him a sympathetic look that turns his stomach so violently he almost pukes right there in the hotel lobby.
“I have a gay cousin, you know, about your age. Too bad he lives on Batuu,” the other adds, patting him on the shoulder. “You two would be cute together.”
“Um. Thank you,” he mumbles as he wraps his knit poncho around himself more tightly, wondering how in the hell he not only came out to the entire rebellion last night, but also clearly bemoaned how lonely and inexperienced he is in enough detail it’s a talking point this morning. He really, really hopes he didn’t also confess that he’s in love with Han Solo. He might actually have to ship himself back to Tattooine if he did that. “Where’s Mendez?” he asks, squinting in the too-bright light ricocheting off of the marble lobby interior.
They direct him to the coffee shop on the corner of the block, and he weaves through the commuter foot-traffic to get there in a daze, head pounding, stomach swimming. “Hey!” she says brightly as soon as she sees him, raising her scarred eyebrow. “So, I looked into it, and there’s a club down in the fashion district that's got no cover before midnight. Some locals said it’s a good place for single guys looking to get lucky, so I say after the tactics meeting tomorrow evening, we go check it out and try to find you a nice guy to pop that cherry.”
Luke actually does have to excuse himself to the bathroom to vomit this time, the word cherry echoing in his head on a terrible, resounding loop. However, after washing his face in the sink and staring at his ashy, sad reflection in the mirror resolutely, he decides to walk right back out and tell her he’ll be there. After all, this is what he wanted. What he set out to do last night before failing. But this time, he’ll have a wingman, and he won’t be alone, and as horrifying as it feels to have woken up to a world where everyone knows he’s never sucked a dick, it at least makes some things easier.
—-
He staggers back up to his hotel room, too compromised to even worry about the likelihood he’ll run into Han. When he does, he nearly falls over, because it’s absolutely criminal someone should look so good when he looks like such shit. It’s just not fair.
Han is leaning in the doorway of his hotel room nonchalantly, which is a lot to accomplish considering that blocking a friend’s door when said friend is lethally hungover is inherently the opposite nonchalant. “Hi?”Luke says stupidly, hands flying to self-consciously twist up in his poncho again. “What do you want?”
Han looks mock affronted, which is one of his most common and most infuriatingly charming expressions. His hair is clean and styled and soft looking right now, and Luke’s gaze darts to it self-deprecatingly. He would love to sink his hands wrist deep into Han’s hair while they kissed, before he smoothed his palms down to the broad, ever-exposed planes of his chest. He would love Han to shove him to his knees. He would love a lot of things, and it’s positively cruel that his mind just supplies him with hundreds of tragically unlikely scenarios every time he so much as looks at Han. “Jeez. Good morning to you, too, kid.” He frowns, purses his lips, then adds, “I was looking for you.”
“Why?” Luke asks miserably, stuck there in the middle of the plush carpeted hallway outside his room. He wants to step closer to Han, to push past him and unlock the door so he can collapse into bed to recover, but he doesn’t dare get closer. He always runs the risk of short-circuiting and just licking Han when he’s this close, which would be a terrible thing to do, especially hungover and reeking of booze and wearing his ugliest poncho.
“Because, rumor has it you went out and got drunk with a bunch of pilots last night,” he says, shifting his weight easily, such a terrible, fluid motion Luke’s eyes are inevitably glued to his hips for a few seconds. “By the looks of it, rumors are true.”
“What, m’I not allowed to go out?” Luke snaps, crossing his arms. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing! Just, Chewie and I have been trying to get you to drink with us forever and you’re always a giant prude about it. I’m just trying to get my facts straight,” Han says, shrugging. “Guess we’re not good enough, huh? For the great, moral, upstanding Luke Skywalker.”
Luke blinks at Han, trying and failing to keep up before mumbling, “That’s—that’s not it.” The real reason he doesn’t drink around Han, of course, is that he doesn't feel like he can let his guard down in his presence without doing something incredibly stupid, like climbing onto his lap and begging to be fucked. He’s pretty sure Han is actually into guys, because he’s heard as much from the sort of people who would know that sort of thing, but that doesn’t mean at all that he’d respond well to being mounted by drunk Luke. Luke’s fairly certain that if Han does fuck men, he goes for handsome, confident, scoundrelly criminals just like him. That way, it’s very nearly masturbation. If Luke drank with Han, he’d just embarrass himself. “It has nothing to do with morality.”
“What doesn't it have to do with then, huh?” Han asks, narrowing his eyes, and Luke wants to die. He has no fucking idea why this even bothers Han so much, why he’s cornering him and blocking his door just to interrogate him about his whereabouts last night. It’s too much.
“I dunno! You and Chewie always want to drink bootleg stuff in your quarters. Mendez offered to take me out. We went somewhere fancy and there were glass tables and drinks with umbrellas in them.”
“Who’s Mendez? Do you like him?” Han snaps, and Luke is so taken a back he actually stumbles a little. He’ not used to this, to everyone knowing, to just saying it like it’s no big deal. The thought of Han possessing indisputable, casual knowledge he’s gay is terrifying, because it means he can probably see right through every weird, stilted thing Luke does around him. It’s one step closer to Han figuring out Luke’s in love with him, which is the worst, scariest thing Luke can possibly fathom. Also grounds for an express and final trip back to anonymity on Tatooine.
“Her! Mendez is a girl. And no. Obviously not,” Luke sighs, folding his arms to hug himself tight, so annoyed his sexuality is suddenly such public knowledge, even if it’s this own damn fault for apparently crying on the whole squadron last night about the tragedy of being a gay virgin. “Can I get in my room now?” he whines then, taking a tentative step closer to Han. “Please?”
Han looks at him for a long time with calculating eyes, mouth pressed into a flat line, and for a second, Luke thinks he’s actually gonna say no and continue grilling him about last night. But instead he sighs and pushes off the door jamb to make room enough Luke can pass by. “Fine,” he says. “You owe me a night of drunken revelry though, kid. M’telling you. We can go out to some stupid, froufrou bar here with overpriced drinks if you want, I don’t care, but remember. I was the one who hung out with your sorry ass for months and taught you how to fix up the Falcon before you made friends with any of these self-righteous rebel pricks, ok?”
And Luke doesn't even know what the fuck that means, why Han is bringing the agonizing weeks he spent in Hoth watching his crush evolve into a full blown obsession while he clung to Han after Ben died. It doesn’t seem relevant, and he refuses to believe Han is actually jealous, so he just shakes his head and chews the inside of his lip hard enough it tastes like blood. “Sure,” he grumbles, shutting the door in Han’s face. “Whatever.”
—-
Luke spends the next twenty four hours in an anxiety spiral.
Yes, he wants to go to a gay bar with Mendez and get laid. Yes, he wants to stop thinking about Han Solo sneering at him from his own goddamned hotel room doorway and getting vaguely turned on. Yes, he wants to actually move in the direction of being an independent adult man who goes and picks up other independent adult men instead of pining endlessly and hopelessly over someone who is sort of his friend but who also might hate him. However, at the same time he feels a powerful wave of inertia every time he thinks about the reality of it. There’s just so much stimulus, so many doubts. He wishes he could fast forward to the part where there’s a hot guy in his bed, but instead he’ll have to suffer through the overwhelming bustle of Coruscant at night, the smell of smoke and perfume and liquor, the embarrassment of rejection in the very likely case he’s genuinely too awkward to actually make this work for himself.
After they check in with Akbar for a tactics update, Luke forces himself to go back to his hotel room to get ready even though his hands are shaking and sweaty. He showers (very thoroughly) and dresses up again, stepping back into his tightest black pants and shrugging on the yellow ceremonial bomber jacket the rebellion gifted him after the Death Star over his dress shirt. It’s one of the few articles of clothing he owns that actually infuses him with confidence, but even that doesn’t do it for him tonight. He’s busy staring at himself critically in the bathroom mirror wishing he looked slightly older than he does (or at least that had some alcohol to soothe the palpable jitter of his body) when he hears a knock on his door.
At first he thinks he’s imagining it. But then it happens again, more urgently this time, followed by Han’s voice muffled n the other side. “Luke!” he says, sounding sharper and reedier than he usually does, a tone Luke’s only heard him use in emergencies. He cards a hand irritatedly through his hair, annoyed because of course Han Fucking Solo would bust his door down seeking solace from some gangster he hustled in cards and ruin his whole night. Of course.
“Coming, coming,” he says, striding to the door and throwing it open. “What did you do now!? I’m going out in a minute, you know.”
“I know,” Han says, looking peculiarly stricken, eyes wide and pleading and—sad, maybe. Luke’s seen Han furious and excited and moved and scared, he’s catalogued all his expressions whether or not he wanted to— but he’s not sure he’s ever seen him sad. It hits like a weird punch to the gut, and he just stands there expectantly, frozen to the hotel carpet. “I know, and m’here to tell you not to,” Han says then, gritting his teeth like he’d rather not be talking but doesn’t know how to stop.
“You—what?” Luke asks, making a face. “You’re telling me not to go out? Why? What trouble did you get into?”
“Trouble! I didn’t get into—kid, you’re the one who’s into trouble,” Han snaps, pushing his way into the room and deadbolting the door behind him. Luke watches the whole spectacle incredulously, shocked and offended, really, than Han is implying he’s the one who’s acting out of line right now. That he needs saving.
“I’m not in trouble, I don’t even know what you’re talking about—“
“Don’t go through with it,” Han interrupts, holding up his hand up like Luke is some fragile, flighty Taun Taun he needs to soothe. Luke resents it and stumbles away reflexively. He’s so tired of being patronized by Han Solo. He needs to go out, he needs to prove to himself that he can do it, that he can want someone who actually fucking wants him back.
“Don’t go through with what?” He snaps, still stumbling a few steps behind.
“With finding some random fucking guy in a bar to—“ Han shakes his head, wrinkling his nose like he can’t even bring himself to say what Luke might end up doing with a random guy from a bar. “Just don’t do it, kid, don’t go and fill some goddamned void just to say you did…s’not worth it, ok?” He forces out in a rush before he starts pacing, refusing to look straight at Luke and —what the fuck.
It takes Luke a few seconds to accept that Han is aware of the sensitive details of his plans tonight, but once the realization hits him he feels sick, dizzy, ashamed. Apparently everyone knows he’s a desperate fucking virgin trying his hardest to get over Han Solo. Even Han himself. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you,” he grinds out, hands flying up to cup the fever of his face defensively. “It’s none of your business what I do!”
“Look, I know,” Han snaps, flashing a humorless smile at Luke, teeth impossibly white. “I know I’ve got no right, but—just trust me, kid.” Then, after a strange, loaded beat: “ M’begging you.”
Luke barks out a laugh, the idea of Han begging for anything from him so absurd he can barely stomach it. “Why?!” he yelps, rounding on Han, trying to back him towards the door, which ends up backfiring because Han holds his ground, leaving Luke just hovering awkwardly in his space, in the infernal heat of his body. “It doesn’t involve you!”
“Yeah, you think I don’t know that?” Han barks incredulously. “I do! But m’older than you and I know—I know your first time should be different than this, ok? It shouldn’t be some stranger you just met. It should mean something. It should be someone who cares about you, who gives a shit.”
Luke cannot breathe, his whole chest and throat tight with sudden, self-deprecating laughter. Han would sweep in and have an opinion on something Luke’s doing, he would unintentionally undermine Luke’s attempt at combatting the unbearable ache of loving him in vain. Han would demand all the fucking real estate in Luke’s heart without even realizing it. “You’re unbelievable,” he breathes, shaking his head. “Well I don’t have the luxury of fucking someone who gives a shit, ok?! This is my only chance, the only time in my whole shitty life where I’ve been somewhere I could actually find someone who might want me. And wanting me is enough, where the hell of you think m’gonna find someone who cares?”
Han’s eye flash, and then his jaw tightens, and before Luke can say anything else, he’s jamming his own thumb into his chest and hissing out, “Right in fucking front of you, kid. Right here.”
And—what?
Luke stands there blinking and temporarily silenced, for once. It sounds like Han is suggesting, somehow, that he should not go out to find a man to take his virginity because he’s volunteering to take his virginity instead, and that just—can’t be right. It negates one of the fundamental reasons why Luke’s trying to get laid in the first place. How is he supposed to get over Han when Han is offering to sleep with him? Furthermore, he’s already told himself it can’t happen so many times it feels like doctrine, it feels line an insurmountable fact. Han’s not allowed to come fuck everything up, but here he is. Eyes wet and flint-black with pupil and—hungry, maybe, Like he’s also convinced himself he can’t have what he wants. “You. Wait—“ Luke mutters, tugging at his hair with nervous fists. “You’d—with me?”
Han inhales sharply, shaking his head like Luke is the most frustrating person he’s ever had the misfortune of conversing with. “Now, I know you think I’m some no-good criminal, but at least I know you, and at least…” he sputters, gaze skidding down to the ground, hands flexing into fists before he rubs them on the front of his trousers. “ I—I’d be so goddamned good to you, Luke, better than any rich asshole out there at a club would be, so just. Please. Don’t go out tonight.” His voice breaks over the last word, and Luke feels like he’s being gutted, like his insides are being pulled out with fishing line, leaving him gasping and empty. “Please.”
He doesn't trust that this is happening, and even if it was, he wouldn’t know where to start. The shit Han is saying—It’s unfathomable. It’s everything he’s ever fantasized about, and that’s why he can’t trust it. Good things don’t happen to Luke without being accompanied by great tragedy, so all he can think to do is something rash. Something to test the limits of reality, or else, botch the situation up so badly it becomes a tragedy like he keeps expecting it to. So, without wasting another second, Luke strides up to Han and pushes him with two furious, splayed wide palms. “Fine,” he grinds out, so fucking mad, overcome with how much he wants this man who only wants him back if he’s about to escape him. “Fucking fine. Kiss me, if you care so goddamned much. Do it.”
Han grins, then, the slide of it like sunlight across his face, dawn breaking. “Now you’re talking, kid,” he murmurs, voice almost sweet.
And with that, he cups Luke’s flushed face between his palms, and tilts him back to kiss.
Luke actually fucking swoons. It’s not a rough kiss, or a wet kiss. It’s firm and searching, like a question, an ultimatum. Luke presses into it desperately because there’s nothing else he can do. Han smells like woodsmoke and engine grease and cologne, spicy and rich and it makes Luke’s mouth water, so he parts like earth subjected to seismic waves, gasping, hungry, stunned. “God,” he whispers, trembling, afraid of how easily he crumbles in Han’s hands, like sand in the wind. He realizes with a nervy spike of feeling in his gut that this is his first kiss, and his stomach plunges all over again. Han mouths over is jawline, down his neck, breath coming in hot, desperate gales as he gently but firmly backs him into the bed.
He goes easily, sinking into it, disintegrating under the pressure of Han’s weight. God, he’’s so fucking solid, so hard. Luke’s hands wander over his shoulders, down the slope of his spine, the toned flex of his arms like he might be able to memorize the shape of him. He feels so fucking good under the shift of his shirt that Luke’s throbbing from it, cock twitching against the thigh Han’s just pushed up between his legs. “I don’t know how to kiss,” he blurts as Han tilts down again, stopping just short of his lips so his breath huffs out onto them, tasting like the best fucking thing Luke’s ever had in his lungs. He still can’t believe this is happening, but he's more and more willing to stop questioning it and just let Han do whatever he wants to him as long as he thinks he wants it. “I might be bad at it.”
Han laughs, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of Luke’s mouth. “Well,” he growls, voice nothing but a hot, maddening scrape. “I’ll show you how.”
And then he’s gently licking Luke’s lips apart, he’s pushing his hand up into the mess of his hair and holding him fast and—fuck, god, Luke can feel himself moaning into the storm of it beyond his control. Kissing is wetter than he thought it would be, wetter and fucking hotter. The pressure sears into him, the scrub of Han’s stubbled chin against his cheek maddening as they part long enough for Han to look at him questioningly, eyes so surprisingly soft, wondering. “You ok, kid?” he murmurs as he, thumbs over Luke’s lower lip, bending to flick his tongue over the peak of the top one, slick and soft. “You’re gonna need to tell me if m’going too fast. You gotta stop be because—fuck, want to just eat you up. Taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, low and hot before diving back in, pushing his tongue deep into Luke’s mouth.
Luke reflexively sucks it, hips pumping involuntarily to rub his cock against the plane of Han’s quads. “It’s not too fast, s’perfect,” he slurs between drags of their mouths, feeling like he’s getting the hang of it, meeting Han halfway and returning his kisses instead of just lying there slack and gasping to receive them. He likes kissing. He fucking loves it. “You can do whatever you want to me,” he admits then, turning his head to hide his flush as Han licks his way messily down his throat, as low as his shoulder, which he’s exposed by rucking the top button of his shirt open.
“Yeah, whatever I want?” Han asks teasingly, grin barbed and animal and hooking so low in Luke’s gut he feels like he’s falling. He fixes his mouth to Luke’s pulse point and sucks hard enough it stings, moving his thumb up to Luke’s mouth again to rub over it. Luke feels lost, moving beyond reason or logic or thought, so he doesn’t even think about the implications as he opens his mouth and sucks Han’s callous-rough index and middle fingers right into the plush heat of his mouth. He watches Han’s eyes flicker, his breath stop. “Jesus,” he murmurs, experimentally pushing deeper, deep enough Luke gags a little, spit bubbling up around Han’s knuckles. “You’re so gorgeous, kid…bet you’d suck anything I put in that mouth, huh?” he asks, and Luke thinks yes, god, please, even if he can’t answer.
Han pulls out and rubs the froth of drool over Luke’s chin before bending close to lick it right up. “You want me to teach you how to suck my cock?” he growls, voice low and filthy, going straight to Luke’s cock.
“Yes,” Luke coughs, already hoarse. He’s so hard he aches, throbbing in his too tight pants, but even more than he wants Han to touch him, he wants to touch Han. Most of his fantasies, anyway, aren’t about being pleasured by men as much as they are about pleasuring them: being used, being held down, being told that he feels good, that his moth is so wet, his ass so tight. He’s not totally confident he’ll be good at letting his guard down enough to come for a man, but making a man come? Making Han Solo come? He’s sure, with a little instruction, he’ll be great at it. He's determined to be. “Just tell me what to do.”
Han peels his thigh away and immediately replaces it with his hand, the heat of his palm spread wide and gently squeezing Luke through his pants. It feels so fucking good his vision whites out in a sudden storm of static, a thready moan ripped from his throat. “Or I could show you, how about that?” Han murmurs, rubbing Luke in careful, deliberate strokes. “Always easier to teach by demonstration.”
“Um,” Luke says, hips stuttering as he humps against Han’s palm. Maybe coming won’t be a problem. Somehow, he’s already halfway there. “If you want to. I don’t want you to if—if you don’t—if you—”
“Luke,” Han scolds, hand ghosting tentatively under his shirt to skate over his heaving stomach. “I fucking want to. Want to do everything to you. Want it so bad the idea of another man touching you—“ his voice turns into a hiss and he digs his fingers into Luke’s ribs, kissing him dark and possessive and with his teeth in it. “I couldn’t stand the idea of another man touching you. Drove me fucking crazy. Need you all to myself.”
“Fucking shit,” Luke groans, heart racing at the mere idea of being Han’s and Han’s only, Han wanting that, feeling jealous at the thought of him being touched by a stranger. “M’yours,” he admits in a slurred rush. “ I only wanted to go out and find someone to forget about you. It was about you.”
Han makes a fist in his dress shirt, crinkling it. “Yeah, you dressed up for me? Got all pretty just to make me jealous? Because fuck, it worked. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t stop thinking about how it should be me. That you should belong to me.”
“I do belong to you. Everything’s for you,” Luke confesses, simultaneously embarassed and relieved it’s all coming out here, every bleeding, raw truth he tried so hard to hide. He knows he should be scared, but he can tell by the desperate, needy way Han’s touching him that he somehow, somehow feels the same way.
“Jesus christ, fuck, kid. Get these off,” he demands, snapping the waistband of Luke’s pants against his hip. “Lemme show you how to suck cock.”
Luke is nothing but whimpers as he wiggles obediently out of his pants, too hard and wanting to even feel self-conscious as he exposes himself. Han hisses as he sees his cock for the first time, gaze black and flashing and fixed there so intensely Luke feels himself flush. “It’s not very impressive,” he admits, knowing full well he’s about average sized, if that. Han is shimmying down the bed eagerly though, palming over Luke’s thighs, licking his lips.
“Are you kidding? You’re fucking perfect,” Han murmurs, curling his fingers around the shaft of Luke’s cock, touch almost reverent in its ceremonious care.
“I am?” Luke murmurs, gaze unfocused and hazy he’s so overwhelmed.
“Yeah,” Han assures him, jerking him base to crown, grip very competent, very practiced. “You paying attention, kid?” he says then, thumbing over the slickness of the tip, smearing it around.
“M’trying,” Luke says, fucking Han’s fist. “What do I do?”
“You hold it like this,” Han explains, sliding down down so he’s got his fingers curled around Luke as low as possible, little finger pressed up against the thatch of his pubic hair. “You put your hand on what you can’t fit in your mouth. Though, m’pretty sure I could swallow all of you. God, so fucking perfect,” He murmurs, lips ghosting sweet and warm against the leaking head. “Some guys’ll just suck it right down. Which, yeah. Fine. Effective. But I like to tease, like a little finesse” he explains, pressing a series of lingering kisses up and down whatever’s exposed. “Feel good?”
“Fucking amazing,” Luke grinds out. “But—yeah, want more. Feels like—s’not enough to make me come.”
“I know,” Han says with a grin, exhaling hotly. “Makes you want it more, doesn’t it it? Bet you wish I’d lick you. Get you all wet. Fuck. Wanna spoil you so bad,” he groans.
“Yeah,” Luke admits, writhing against the bed and seeking pressure blindly, hungrily, stomach turning with every word. “I wish—”
But then, he’s suddenly sunk deep into slick, searing heat. Han is sucking him, sliding up and down with his lips in a tight, sealed ring, tongue flat against the underside of his cock with his eyes shut tight and his brow crumpled, cheeks hollowing. And this—this is better than Luke’s wildest dreams of what this would feel like. Maybe because it’s Han, Han’s rough palm sliding between the mattress and his ass to grip it tight, holding him in place from front to back, mouth the wettest thing he’s ever felt in his fucking life. Han, Han, Han who he’s wanted as long as he’s known him. “Fuck,” he gasps, uncementing his hand from the sheets to slide through the oily softness of his hair. “That’s so fucking good.”
“Yeah,” Han murmurs as he pulls off, rubbing his face into Luke’s cock, green-brown eyes glittering up at him hungrily. Luke glances down and realizes Han’s somehow gotten his own trousers unbuttoned and down his thighs, his cock out. He drags the hand out from under Luke’s body to touch himself, fingers teasing up his shaft, pushing the precum around the crown and making it glisten. Luke’s mouth waters as he stares.
“I want to do it,” Luke realizes, heart clenching as he reflexively jerks up into Han’s slack, sucking mouth. “I want to taste you.”
Han pulls off in a messy slick of saliva, lips puffy. “You want me to fuck that pretty mouth?” he asks, stroking Luke’s spit-wet dick in time with how he’s stroking his own. “God, your eyes are so fucking blue. How are you this goddamned pretty?
“Yes, I want to suck it,” Luke slurs, wondering how in the fuck he can look pretty right now when he’s just lying there in a stunned daze as Han mouths over his cock a few more times before kissing him and getting up on all fours. “I want to so fucking bad.”
“Fine. Let's see if you learned anything or just lolled there and cried,” Han teases, rolling his pants the rest of the way down his legs and kicking them off before collapsing onto his back, still palming his cock. It’s so hard and red and big, and Luke can’t stop thinking about it stretching his lips into a tight ring, the head of it hitting the back of his throat. Fuck.
“I didn’t cry,” he mumbles, even as his eyes are streaming, hazy as be blinks. He hauls himself up and gets between Han’s thighs, tentatively lowering himself to his stomach so he’s where he needs to be. It’s so fucking surreal, the smell of Han’s sweat and arousal, his cock flexing inches away from his face. “Ok, so,” he murmurs, curling his fingers around the shaft, hand bumping Han’s in the process. His stomach is in knots, his cock flexing against the sheets as he humps them mindlessly. “Like this?”
“Yeah,” Han breathes, reaching down and carding a hand through his hair, ruffling it up sweetly before pushing him gently down. It definitely doesn’t feel condescending now, it feels fucking hot, it feels perfect. “That’s it, baby. You look so good there—kiss it, Luke, lemme feel those pretty lips.”
Luke does as he's told, mouthing up the side of Han’s cock almost chastely, until he’s unable to keep from flicking his tongue out to lick salt, musk. He really likes Han calling him baby, the word twists so filthy inside him his cock flexes without even being touched. The skin under his lips is so hot he has to moan, eyes fluttering shut, spine curling. He keeps pushing his ass out, hole fluttering at the mere thought of Han’s cock being anywhere near him, anywhere inside him. “Good?” he breathes, letting his mouth open suggestively close to the crown.
“Absolutely perfect. Jesus, could watch you there forever. Look at you rutting against the blankets, so goddamned desperate for a cock in your mouth, aren't you?”
“Just yours,” he admits, licking messily, wetly.
Han puts him where he wants him, petting the back of his neck, the flex of his shoulders. “God. You ready to suck it?” he asks, voice snagged, fractured. Then, “Fuck that’s good,” as Luke plunges down without answering, mouth open, tongue laving. He tries to keep his gaze trained up, tries to track Han’s reaction but it’s fucking impossible not to let is eyes slide shut as he sinks lower, as deep as he can go. He’s thought about this so many times: Han breathless under him, his broad thighs bracketing him, cock twitching as Luke chokes on it gratefully. He feels close and he hasn’t even touched himself since Han sucked him, all he’s doing is rubbing against his own sheets.
He’s really getting into a rhythm when Han tugs at his hair, interrupting. “Hey,” he says. “M’not—you’re gonna make me come before I can fuck you,” he says breathlessly, scratching at Luke’s scalp.
Luke whites out in overwhelm, cock pulsing against his stomach as he pulls off. “You were planning on fucking me?” he asks, back dipping lower just at the thought. Of being so full, Han’s weight against his back, his chest, his breath coming out in gales against his lips, his cock stretching him wide and burning. God.
Han chokes out a breathless laugh, head rolling against Luke’s pillows. “Well yeah, m’taking your virginity, right? That’s what this is?” He thumbs over Luke’s cheek bone, rubbing at his flush with his eyes dark and possessive in a way that makes Luke’s stomach drop with longing.
“I feel like—I feel like you already took my virginity,” Luke confesses, tilting into Han’s touch, playing with his cock experimentally “You sucked me. You’re letting me suck you. You don’t have to do anything else…I mean. I want you to. Want everything with you, but—”
“I’ll fuck you so good, Luke, I’ll be so gentle,” Han promises, even as his voice is rough, tattered. “You save it for me? Don’t let anyone else touch you until—“
“Fuck, you can do it later tonight. Or tomorrow. M’yours,” he promises, fixing his mouth to Han’s shaft and sucking idly, messily. “M’not going anywhere.” And it’s such a weird thing, to be reassuring Han he’s not a flight risk. He feels bizarrely powerful, here between his man’s legs, touching him, sucking him, promising himself to him. The whole thing has got him knotted up, shivery and hot all over.
“Fine,” Han grits out, extending his neck, throat rippling. “Your mouth is too goddamned good. But c’mere—keep sucking, just shift your ass up here so I can touch you. I can touch you, right?”
“Please touch me,” Luke moans, swallowing him down again, heart pounding at the idea of Han’s hands on him, pulling him apart. As soon as he’s properly arranged, perpendicular to Hans body with his lower half extended across the rest of the bed, Han’s reaching out, palming greedily over his ass.
“Fuck, bet you’re so tight, baby. Bet you’ll take me so good, make the prettiest noises,” he murmurs, rubbing down into the humid crease of Luke’s ass to nudge over his hole. Luke tenses up initially, a reflex at having been touched somewhere he’s only prodded at curiously, tentatively, in the shower. But then Han’s taking his hand back to spit into his own palm, smearing the hot, sticky handful of spit right into Luke’s, rubbing over his rim. Luke moans, pushing back against the pressure, letting Han knead insistent, tender circles into him. “Fucking perfect,” he breathes, hips stuttering as he fucks Luke’s mouth, motions graceless and desperate. “God, can’t wait to come inside you. I’ll fill you up, baby, make you feel so good—fuck,” he groans as he pushes a finger inside, punching a messy moan out of Luke, who’s sucking has become less measured, less smooth. “So hot here, so tight.”
Luke’s cock is leaking all over the sheets as he humps them, his jaw sore from being stretched wide enough to suck Han’s cock as deep as he wants to. But this, Han’s big warm fingers pulling him apart, playing with his hole, getting it wet and soft and then fucking inside, opening him—it’s too much. Its too good to sustain. He groans and he backs himself up, and then, like a sudden storm, he's coming. It hits him like lightning, his hole fluttering in spasms around Han’s fingertip, his cock shooting off into his sheets. So much to keep track of he practically forgets to keep sucking Han, his mouth going slack and drooling around him as he cries out.
“Jesus, Luke,” Han moans, pulling him off and withdrawing from the tight grip of his ass to manhandle him onto his back and kiss his swollen mouth sloppily. “You’re so perfect, so fucking hot,” he tells him, touching him all over, smearing his load into the blonde hair under his navel. “Can I come on you? On your face?”
There’s nothing in the world that sounds better to Luke right now, but he can’t remember how to talk so he just nods, shutting his eyes obediently as Han straddles his chest and jacks himself off right over Luke’s open, panting mouth. The first ribbon of come lands wet and burning on his cheek, so he angles up to catch the next, whimpering because Han tastes exactly how he imagined: sharper and more acrid then himself, bitter in the best way. He swallows, lips tingling before Han dips down to kiss him. “So good, my good boy,” Han growls, biting his lower lip, making him whine. “God, you’re gonna ruin me for everyone else, aren’t you?”
Luke really, really hopes so. He’s coming down from his orgasm too slow, still feeling like he’s floating, hands drifting all over Han’s hair and shoulders as he settles down beside him, half on top of him, letting him up for air every few seconds between suffocating kisses. It’s heaven, it’s perfect, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. He keeps grinning haphazardly under Han’s lips, completely powerless to stop. “Was I ok?” he eventually slurs. “For my first time?”
“You were—don’t even have words. You could have just laid there and let me touch you and you would have been perfect. You’re it for me, kid. Don’t even know why, but you’re it,” Han mumbles, eyes shut like he’s moved, lips skating across Luke’s sweat damp hairline.
Luke doesn’t trust that Han is being serious, because he’s just saying the sort of things people say when they’ve come hard all over someone’s willing face. He doesn’t trust it will last till morning, or even just another hour, when reality starts bearing down on them again. Still, it feels fucking good. He settles close to Han’s chest, palm over the frantic thud of his heart, hoping he can stay a little longer, at least. Before he has time to worry about it, there’s a sharp knock on the door and they both freeze.
“Shit,” Luke murmurs, eyes wide. “It’s Mendez, probably. I said I’d go out tonight.”
“Let her knock,” Han hisses, fitting his palm over Luke’s mouth to quiet him, burying his face in the sweat-messy wreck of his hair and breathing him in. “You’re staying right fucking here.”
And Luke is happy to melt into his arms that all he can do is wait for the knocking to subside, for footsteps to fade into the hallway. He doesn’t want to go out anymore, not even a little bit. This is as good as his first time could possibly be, anyway.
——