Archive of Our Own

*

When he had imagined being Han Solo's lover – and oh, Luke had imagined it – there had been silky sheets and soft pillows and at least a gallon of lubricant. Most of all, there had been murmured words of mutual love and desire, feeding Luke's tired soul like Han's long hands would feed Luke's touch-starved skin.

It had not involved spit and tears and being barricaded in a cheap room with a lousy bed and Han's actual lover – Luke's own sister – and a delirious Corellian between them, in a do-or-die attempt to save the man's life with as much hard sex and as many orgasms as any of them could stand.

Luke rolled wearily onto his back and wiped the sweat away from his eyes and blinked them open, and stared up at the ceiling's cracked surface. And wondered – in a distant, academic sort of way – if his own heart was going to give out before Han's did.

Not that it mattered, of course. If that was what it took to keep Han alive, Luke would count it a small cost. Besides, Han had owned Luke's heart for years, so giving it up for him now would just complete a deal struck long ago.

That no-one besides Luke had known about that deal – that Han himself had never known – didn't matter either.

Movement beneath him and a soft moan brought Luke's attention back around, and he turned his head to look at the man on whose leg he was lying.

Han sprawled back against the wall, half-sitting half-lying in Leia's arms as she sat behind him, prop and pillow, his hair smearing dark against her pale skin. Han's eyes were closed but Leia's were open, swollen with tears she'd fiercely refused to shed. Luke had already shed his own fair share, a helpless overflow of fractured dreams, of anger and sorrow at what they three had been forced into, at how the drug Han had been poisoned with had made a mockery of this, what could be – what should be about the nicest thing two or more humans could do together.

Now? Now it was a brute race against time and metabolism, with Han's own body, and what he'd jokingly referred to as the “Corellian Overdrive,” become his worst enemy.

Another soft sound from Han. Leia cradled his cheek and her eyes met Luke's, her deep brown gaze confirming what Luke already knew: Han's skin was still too hot, flushed and dry, stretched tight over his bones. The effects of the korthouss – heat and madness, Han's delirium pressing around the edges of Luke's own mind as well because his detachment had shattered hours ago. Sky-rocketing blood pressure and pulse as Han's body struggled with a level of sexual arousal that he ultimately couldn't survive unless the chemicals driving it could be burned out before his heart did.

With a Corellian, there was only one known way to do that.

A rare, dangerous quirk of physiognomy – most any other type of human would get nothing more from korthouss than a mild to a major high. Corellians – particularly “pure-blood” Corellians – died from it, unless they were brought to sexual climax, hard and repeatedly.

And sometimes they died anyway.

“He has to come again,” Leia said.

“I know.” Luke closed his eyes. “We're running out of options.”

“I know,” she said, soft and ragged. “I know ...”

“... smrt ...”

Luke froze, because that soft sound wasn't him –

“... 'll think … s'mthin'...”

– and it wasn't Leia either. Luke's eyes snapped open and he jerked upright, and gasped as most of his body protested. “Han?”

Slivers of hazel showed between dark, matted lashes. Blood-shot and fever-bright, but open and focused, or trying to. “Luke? Y'r … here?”

“Of course I'm here.” Emotion nearly closed Luke's throat. “Wouldn't be anywhere else.” He found Han's hand and gripped it, and wanted to laugh or cry as Han gripped back, real but weak, the manic strength of earlier bled away. The wildness moaning on the edges of his own mind was less too, Luke realized.

“Wasn't … sure,” Han whispered. “Knew … Leia was.” He turned his head, his flushed cheek almost aglow against Leia's breast. “Know her … anywhere, but you … b'n a dream.”

Luke met his sister's eyes, and saw a few of the tears she'd throttled back escape. “No dream, scoundrel,” Leia murmured, her arms tightening and her voice choked. “You don't get rid of us, either of us, that easy.”

Han's mouth twitched, and his eyes fell closed. “J's … my luck.”

Luke squeezed the long fingers. “You know what's happening?”

The faintest nod. “Korth'ss.”

“Yes.” Luke swallowed. He scooted closer and rested his other hand on Han's chest. Heat blazed off Han like a reactor. Racing heartbeat thundered beneath Luke's fingers, pulse visibly shuddering at the base of Han's throat. “But we're – we need another way – ”

Because flesh could only endure so much. Neither he nor Leia could take Han into themselves again without serious damage, and in any case Han's own skin was raw as well, even the soft touch of lips and tongue painful enough to defeat the effort. Which only left one option.

Another faint nod. “Y' n'd … t' f'ck me.”

Luke swallowed again, harder. “Yes.”

The one thing in a widely-varied sexual life – if Han was to be believed – that Han didn't do. Didn't even discuss, as Luke had discovered years ago during that alcohol-induced conversation where Han had gently, but firmly, closed the door on all of Luke's own barely-acknowledged desires.

And Luke had learned to live with it, because Han's friendship was worth far, far too much to risk for the fleeting pleasures of sex. He'd put his own needs away, and gained instead the matchless treasure of one of the two most important relationships of his life.

A treasure now shattered beyond repair, because when they left this room, everything would be forever changed, one way or another.

Han's fingers tightened around Luke's. “Do it. 'n don' ask if I'm sure.”

Luke laughed, short and painful, because he had been going to ask that.

Han's mouth twitched again before he drew a deeper, shuddering breath. “Leia?”

“Right here.”

“Hold … tight, may g't … crazy.”

Leia's face crumpled, eyes squeezing shut and a few more tears escaping. “You've been crazy since I met you, how would I tell?”

The twitch widened into something almost a smile. “... y'say the … nicest things.”

“Only because you deserve them,” she whispered, a bare tremor in her voice, and kissed the top of his head.

*

They're down to almost nothing left to use but spit and sweat, little else other than the last remains of the lotion that had come with the awful little room and the stuff Chewie'd been able to find for them. That Han's long-time partner has been guarding the door, within perfect earshot, is something Luke can't let himself remember now. Particularly now.

He knows how this act is done and it's something he's always enjoyed, although obviously not every human male does. But the last time had been he and Biggs and that had been in another life, before he'd ever held a lightsaber or heard about the Force. And he'd loved Biggs, but not like he loves Han.

Nothing like Han.

Luke knows the mechanics, from both sides. What he doesn't know is if he'll be able to do it. Because seeing the man he loves as a helplessly drugged-up wreck is not the least bit arousing, Han's superb body on full rampant display notwithstanding, and without an erection this isn't going to work.

Han's lost to them again well before Luke has him ready, and he fights them although his strength is gone; fights Leia's grip on his arms and Luke's touch on his legs and inside him, struggles until Luke's fingers find his prostate and then it's a fight of an all-together different kind.

But the delirium is just as well, because it may shield Han from the inevitable pain Luke is going to cause, no matter how well he tries to prepare. He'd use the Force to help if he dared, but he doesn't, not under these circumstances – the risk for damage to delicate tissue is just too great. If Han's ever done this before then it was long enough ago that his body is virgin-tight, and Luke knows without false pride that on the scale of human male sexual anatomy, his own equipment is definitely on the larger side.

There's no choice now, he's out of time to talk himself into this and Han may be out of time as well. Luke closes his eyes and reaches into the Force. He'd learned years ago how to control many of his body's functions, including unwanted or uncalled-for sexual arousal, but this is the first time he's used it the other way around.

It's too easy. The drug's backwash slams through the moment Luke opens the door and fires his own body immediately, almost unstoppably strong, and he comes erect in a near-painful rush. The blind, ravenous, ferocious need nearly drowns him, like it had those first times when Han had taken him. And Luke hadn't fought it then, had let it happen so that when Han had held him down, pinned him and spread him and thrust into him, Luke hadn't fought that either. Because he could very easily have overpowered Han and stopped him. But that wasn't what Luke had been there for.

Now, now the boot is on the other foot.

“Hold him,” Luke grits out, and Leia's face is already a mask of grim determination but she nods and braces herself. Han's still struggling in her hold, legs sprawled and hips twisting, his cock an angry red, hard as durasteel. And he's moaning, muttering words that might be curses or might be names, might be Leia's name. Or might be Luke's, but Luke doesn't dare think like that because that way lies his own particular madness, a special kind of hell built for just for him.

They're out of time. Luke grips Han's legs behind the knees and bends them back, lines himself up, and pushes in.

Han shouts and Luke freezes, in no more than an inch but already the glove-tight heat around the tip of his cock is half-unbearable. Han's face creases and his groan holds pain, not pleasure but there's no choice about this now, none.

“Relax, Han, please,” Luke gasps, maybe in his mind and maybe out loud, he's not even sure, “relax, breathe, breathe, that's it, it gets better, I promise you, it does get better, it can be wonderful, just let me in. Let me in, yes,” and he kisses the inside of Han's knee as the stranglehold around him begins to ease. “That's it,” and rocks his hips, inching slowly forward until he's pressed flush against the backs of Han's thighs, shivering, all the way in.

“Han, please,” and Luke doesn't know what he's asking for, permission or absolution.

Han's eyes open and for a moment he sees Luke, perhaps, Luke thinks, dry lips forming a word, his name? Before Han's face contorts and he turns his head away. “No.” A hoarse moan. “No, not – not this, you're not – no – Leia – ”

The cracking sound is probably Luke's heart, but it doesn't matter. There's no time.

Luke moves. Shallow thrusts at first, seeking the right angle, the stroke that will bring only pleasure. Han fights him still, or tries to, defiant to the end, his panting breaths mixing with Leia's as she holds him back, holds him down with arms pinned above his head, trying to calm him with shattered-sounding whispers that Luke can't let himself hear. Because he's listening with other senses, listening to Han's body, listening to him, feeling him, feeling with him –

There.

Han makes a tight, startled sound high in his throat and his eyes go wide. Then they squeeze shut as his hips jerk upward and he moans again, long and loud and there's nothing of pain in it this time, and Luke knows – he feels – that he's gotten it right.

He moves. Slowly at first but picking up speed as Han shifts with him now, long legs around Luke's torso and heels against his ass. Luke braces on his hands at either side of Han's ribs, unable to touch Han's cock but that doesn't matter because Han has to reach climax only from this, just like this, from the friction of Luke inside him.

Han shudders beneath him, body jerking in helpless counterpoint to Luke's rhythm as Luke pushes harder and deeper, every thrust targeted, holding onto his own sanity with a fingernail grip against the swelling tide of pleasure, both his own and Han's. Because he can't give in, can't lose himself, not yet. Not until Han comes.

It is like and utterly unlike what Luke has known before. There was Biggs, but memories that Luke had thought so sharp and clear are faded, blanched and thin beneath the sheer, violent reality of now. The miasma of sweat and musk and semen, the killing heat of Han's skin practically hazing the air around them, the sound of Han's and Leia's voices mingled, desperate. Han's arousal a blaze in Luke's mind and beneath it, Han himself, so close and out of reach. The nearly too-tight grip of Han's body: a perfect fit, like he was made for this, purpose-built for this alone, for them together. For Luke.

A low rumble like some far-off battle, almost subvocal but gathering tension, building, building, juddering upward into a delicious agony beneath the confines of skin. Han's voice in rough, ragged bursts, timing with the roll and snap of Luke's hips and the pant of his (their) breathing. Thunder in the nerves, in every inch of their body, feeding the wave of roiling energy that surges upward, straining higher and higher and higher – and peaks.

Power shocks incandescent up Luke's spine a split-second before Han freezes, pulls in one breath, and screams as climax shatters him from the inside out. The wave smashes down, sucking Han under and dragging Luke with him, the doubled concussions a perfect, annihilating storm, and for an instant he feels Leia too swept in with them before the riptide tears him apart.

He drifts for a long time, pieces of himself scattered on the unnamed sea, before a vague sort of reality becomes somewhat stable, coalescing along the sound of Leia's voice.

Leia, saying his name.

…

Han, silent and motionless beneath him.

…

He should … he should move.

It takes every bit of concentration he can muster to carefully pull out and roll off onto his back, and breathe. And he'll open his eyes in a minute, he will …

“Luke.” Leia's voice shakes and she takes his hand, and that's not her chest, certainly, that he's touching now so it must be – Han's.

It's wet.

The shock snaps Luke's eyes open. He jerks upright and looks, almost afraid, but it's true. Moisture. Sweat. Han is drenched in it.

A gasp shakes up from deep in Luke's chest and he jerks unsteady fingers over to touch Han's throat, feeling for the pulse – there. Slowing. Slowing down. Han's skin cooler beneath the wet – the grip of the drug-fever broken.

They have won.

Leia's arm comes around Luke's shoulder as he collapses against her, the last of his strength going, lays his cheek against the small softness of her belly, and lets the tears come. It's over. The life he's known, the life he's made with the two of them – willfully given up in return for Han's own. The life that he and Leia have saved, together, but Luke's part in it is over now.

It's all over now.

*

Of the planets he'd been on now for any length of time, Luke had come to like the ones with definite seasons the best. Many of the habitable planets had them, of course, including Tatooine, but some were a lot more interesting than others.

Luke parked himself carefully in the open full-length window and leaned his shoulder against the frame, storing up the sights of the Corellian obus trees close by and the vari-colored forest beyond. The texture of the Force felt different here, almost a rhythm with the cycles of the life around him. What lived, died, yes, but always returned – in the same form or another one but always it arose again. Always changing and yet ceaseless and eternal, renewing the Force in its wake.

There was a comfort in that, and Luke knew that he would find it. His mouth quirked, and he squinted at the reddish leaf which fell gracefully past him, pirouetting with a yellow one. He would find it. Eventually.

Luke felt her in the Force some moments before he heard her voice. “Luke?” Leia walked up slowly behind him, her shoes quiet on the floor. “I didn't knock, but your door was open … “

“It's always open for you.” Luke turned his head as she came beside him. Leia was dressed in soft browns today, the tones of her long dress and over-tunic reflecting the rich warmth of her eyes. She leaned into him and he put his arm around her in a careful hug, as aware of her stiffness and soreness as he was of his own.

There had been a possibly inevitable awkwardness between them at first, in the time after Chewbacca had gotten them all back to the Alliance installation on Corellia and into medcenter care, Han being put into induced light coma to give his overtaxed body a chance to heal. The awkwardness had only lasted the minute or so it had taken Leia to half-tease, half-bully Luke out it, though, flatly stating that she wouldn't put up with that pudu and she'd make it a royal order if she had to.

“It's beautiful, isn't it? Corellia's autumn?” Leia turned her head and gave the hand on her shoulder, Luke's right hand, a quick kiss before she straightened away and leaned slightly forward. They were quite a ways up but his sister had no more fear of heights than Luke himself had. The cool breeze picked at a few loose tendrils of her hair. “I've always loved this season, loved being somewhere that had trees or plants that changed like this. Alderaan was so mountainous, we didn't have much of this.”

Luke treasured these moments, these nuggets of her past he knew she shared with few other beings besides himself and Han, bits of the childhood they'd not been able to share. “Neither did Tatooine.”

Leia looked back at him, and flashed him a quick, quirky smile. “No, I don't suppose it did.”

Another falling leaf caught her attention, this one an obus leaf gone a rich orangish-brown, but it was too far away to catch. Luke flipped it into her outstretched hand with a gentle trickle of Force, and she grinned at him again as she cradled it, turning it to hold it upright by its stem. Three lobes, with uneven edges where things had worn or nibbled at them, but at their center they made a perfect join, balanced and stable.

Perfect, but dead.

“Such a wonderful color,” Leia said softly, turning the leaf slowly. “Seems like such a shame that it only happens before it falls.”

“It's part of life, death is,” Luke said quietly, “although I don't think anything's ever really lost; it's all there in the Force. It just changes shape.”

Leia nodded, contemplative … and then her head jerked up sharply. “Why – don't I like the way you said that?” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing. “Luke?”

“It's all still there, even when it changes, though, it's – ”

“Don't start on the Force 'philosophy' with me, that diversion won't work. I know you better than that.” Brown eyes bored in as his sister studied him hard. “You're planning something. You're – ” A sharp breath and her face loosened, her eyes going wide. “You're leaving. You're leaving?”

The obus leaf dropped, unheeded, to the floor.

“Yes, I am. It – ”

“Luke!”

Luke turned away, walked away from the window and away from Leia, because he couldn't do this with her so close. “I can't stay, not now,” he said, stopping in the middle of the room and turning back to her. “You must see that.”

“I see my brother planning to be an idiot, is what I see,” Leia retorted. “Now tell me the reason.”

Gods, was he going to have to spell it out? “What happened in that room … ”

“We had sex. Until we bled,” Leia said bluntly, and her tone was even but the bob of her swallow gave lie to her calm. “Me and him, you and him. A lot rougher than I've ever wanted, and the first time at all for you two, I know, but – ”

“It's not just the sex,” Luke enunciated, picking the words out short and hard, because krif but she was going to make him spell it out. Although the sex was reason enough, because the odds of Han forgiving him for what he'd had to do were probably about the same as him becoming a Bo'amar monk. “It's me, my feelings. I can't stay now, feeling the way I do.”

“And that's – how?”

Luke swallowed hard. “I love him.”

Leia just spread her hands wide in obvious question, like that wasn't enough for her, and something in Luke's chest, already frayed thin, broke. “Because I love him!”

“Of course you do!”

“Dammit, Leia, I'm in love with him!”

“I know that!” she snapped.

Luke froze, staring at her.

Leia glared back, then her face abruptly lightened, her surprise ringing between them. “Did you think I didn't know? Luke, I've always known.”

He could barely breathe. “And you don't … ”

“Don't what? Mind? Care?” Leia shook her head, slowly. “Why would I?” she asked, starting toward him. “That just makes it – ”

“Stop.” Luke turned his head away and threw up a hand and surprisingly, she did stop. “Please don't.”

“Luke – ”

Her “reasonable persuasion” voice, warm and even, and that was the very last thing he could take. “Leia, please. Don't.” He closed his eyes. “I have to go – ”

“Absolutely not! Why? In fact, that's the last thing you should – ”

“Leia.” He ground out her name between clenched teeth because dear gods, how could she not see?

Silence, followed by a long, soft sigh.

Luke turned back just in time to catch Leia's expression, the slight chin-lift and eye-roll she used when she'd about reached her limits with the men in her life. “Brother mine … ”

She moved again, stiffly, not stopping this time until she was back inside his space and Luke breathed in the smell of her hair. Her emotions brushed at him through their link, irritation and sadness, fear and determination and love, love most of all. “Luke. I need you,” she said, soft and intense. “We need you, here, certainly until Han's back on his feet. You can stay that long,” and the look in her eyes said she'd give no quarter on this. “Besides, you're not fit to travel yet any more than I am. Promise me, that you will stay at least that long.” She put her hand on his arm. “Please.”

It seemed his heart could, in fact, break a little more. This was his sister. “ … all right.”

Liquid brown eyes closed and Leia's breath went out, and she rested her forehead against Luke's shoulder. Luke put his arms around her because he had to and they were embracing hard, Leia's hands tight against his shoulder blades, the rest of her soft and warm and he'd do this, he'd manage, somehow, for her. He would.

*

Two days later, Luke wasn't so sure.

He needed to see Han and he had, but never when the other man was awake. Leia had made her opinion on that more than clear, of course.

Meditation did him little better, its calming detachment lasting about as long as the average snowball on Tatooine. Every ripple in the Force led inexorably back to Han and the longing to touch that fierce, quicksilver spirit while it was awake as well as while it dreamed, regaining brightness and strength.

He wanted, he needed, desperately, to be close to Han. He couldn't. Couldn't face the shards of their friendship that might be all he'd see in Han's eyes.

Early on the third day, Chewbacca saved him.

<There are repairs to the comm system and sublight engines which require more than two hands,> Chewie growled, appearing unannounced in the doorway to Luke's quarters. <Also tuning to the thrusters, and seals to be replaced on the portside docking hatch. Han trusts you, as do I, for these things, if you are enough recovered.>

The Wookie's care about “his” humans bled prickly warmth through the Force when Luke reached out, and concern about the Falcon as well. The need for the repairs was very real.

He couldn't touch Han. But he could touch Han's ship. Luke smiled. “Of course.”

*

Hours later, head and shoulders deep into the guts of the starboard sublight engine, Luke found a kind of peace.

It couldn't last, of course.

He stayed on-board that night, taking unashamed advantage of the bunk in the captain's cabin, possibly the one place no one would look for him. And got something like actual rest for the first time since Han had been poisoned, there with the smell of Han's body lingering in the bedclothes.

The next day Luke was back at it, struggling with a stubborn part and half-seriously wondering if Chewie'd had an ulterior motive in asking for his help. The access for the sublight engines was in the Falcon's rearmost hold, through a hatchway and shaft, and the position was awkward, half on his back and arms over his head. Luke finally swore in two languages and lay back to give his shoulders a rest.

“Impressive, but say it in Corellian.”

Luke froze, his heart stopping before restarting with a painful jerk.

“That's her native language, y'know,” Han said, his deep voice a little scratchy. “Might make more of an impression.”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut a moment and reached for calm, somehow unsurprised when it wasn't to be found. “Voice of experience?” he said, somehow keeping his voice even.

“Yeah, somethin' like that. Come outta there, your feet are fine but I don't wanna talk to them.”

Luke breathed in and reached again and found a measure of detachment this time, and pulled it around himself like the fragile armor it was before he eased himself out of the hatchway and sat up, ignoring the lingering aches in his lower body. “You're not supposed to be here.”

“Oh, hey, Luke. Nice to see you too.” Seated on an old goods crate from who knew what past smuggling venture, Han folded his arms across his chest and stared at him. Helplessly, Luke stared back.

The traces of Han's ordeal clearly showed – a few deeper lines in his face and skin paler than his norm, his cheekbones standing out sharp. He was dressed in clothes Luke knew that Chewie had brought over for him, still his preferred light shirt and dark pants but pullover things, in a looser fit than he normally favored. Soft shoes. No sidearm, but the hazel gaze he pinned Luke with was irritated and more than sharp enough, the Solo temper on display.

He looked tired, and very much alive.

He looked wonderful.

“You look better,” Luke said softly.

Han snorted. “I look like pudu and you know it.”

“Then why are you out of the medcenter?”

“Because somebody,” Han said, his eyes narrowing, “that I wanted to talk to, couldn't bother to come and see me.”

Han wanted to talk to him? “I have seen you,” Luke said, startled into protest.

“Not when I'm awake.”

The words were clipped, and Luke looked down at his hands, smudged with dust, a streak of black lubricant dyed across his left palm. Best to do this quick and clean, and perhaps salvage something from the wreckage. “It was better that I didn't,” he said quietly, and heard Han take a breath.

“Damn.”

Very soft, but Luke caught it and looked up sharply because that had sounded –

But Han had closed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm gettin' that,” he said, low and tired, like the anger that had been propping him up had run out.

The man really shouldn't have been out of medical yet. “Han – ”

“Don't.” One hand shifted in a short waving motion, and subsided as if the effort was too great. “Just – don't, all right?”

Luke swallowed, painfully, around the ache in his chest.

“Look,” Han said finally, opening his eyes and trapping Luke in a mesh of gray and golden-brown. “Don't stay away, all right? She needs you.”

And you don't, I know. “I won't,” Luke said, obscurely proud of how even he sounded. “But I can't stay here, either.”

“Hey, you don't think I'll be around all the time, do you? I still got business that I gotta get back to.”

Luke's eyes widened. “You'd – what?”

“Kid, she would never forgive me for getting between you two, so – ”

What? “Wait. Why would you – ”

“Ah, hells, Luke.” Han squeezed his eyes shut again. “Don't make this harder than it already is.”

“I'm not leaving because of – ”

“The fuck you're not.” Han's eyes snapped back open and the anger blazed back full-force, mixed with something that looked a lot like pain. “You are leaving exactly because of what happened between us in that room.”

Just as he'd thought, he couldn't face those eyes. Luke ducked his head. “I never – I didn't want – ”

A harsh bark of laughter. “Oh I know you don't now, even through the drug-haze that was perfectly clear.” A deep breath. “But don't you dare lie to me and say that you never did. Leave me that much.”

Luke jerked his head up and stared. Were they having the same conversation here? “Han, I love you,” he said, because this was it, he had to, it just simply wouldn't stay inside of him any longer. He was standing on the edge of the precipice and the fall was only a matter of time. He watched Han's eyes squeeze closed yet again. “I always have.”

Han swallowed. “Sure, I know. Just – ” He shook his head, his face twisting. “Not like you used to, that's all.”

Luke's throat clicked as he tried to breathe and couldn't.

Han shook his head, eyes still closed. “'s ironic, y'know? Because there you were and I – couldn't. Couldn't fall, couldn't let you fall for me, 'cause it wouldn't've worked and you'd've just got hurt 'cause I ain't that guy, right? I don't do love. Friendship's good but don't ever fall, the pain ain't worth it.” His mouth curved up but it wasn't a smile. “So what happens? You fall out and I fall in, and not just one but two – both of you – and there's damned-all I can do about it. And because I shut you down, this is all gonna … “ He shook his head again, and a pained laugh escaped. “Joke's on me, huh?”

Something was rising in Luke's chest, scraping the already raw places as it came, and it felt terrifyingly like hope. “Han,” he gritted out, voice thick. “Look at me. Please.”

Dark lashes rose slowly. And there it was – everything, right there, glittering in his eyes. Han was looking at Luke like he always had, for years – and Luke was twelve kinds of self-blinded idiot.

Luke was on his knees and in close, hand on top of Han's where it lay on his friend's leg, almost before he'd realized that he'd moved. “I didn't.”

Han's eyes went wide. “Didn't – what?”

“I didn't fall out. I couldn't; I never learned how.” Luke heard his own voice shake, and it didn't matter. He cupped his hands over Han's shoulders and slid his fingers around the nape of the strong neck, and felt a shiver run beneath Han's skin. “I only ever learned to live with it.”

Han stared at him, face going paler. “Luke,” he said, tight and strained, “I warn you, I can't – I won't take a pity-fuck. Not from you.”

The smile that bloomed across Luke's face almost hurt. “Good thing that's not what this is, then,” he whispered, and leaned in.

Soft, that first kiss. Soft and chapped, and awkward. Until Han sucked in a breath that had something like a sob beneath it and whispered Luke's name, and hauled him close. Awkward vanished. Everything vanished but the touch of Han's fingers and the taste of his mouth.

When Han let him breathe again they were both on the floor, tangled up so tightly Luke wasn't sure where he ended and Han started. Han buried his face in Luke's neck and held on, long fingers digging against Luke's waist and shoulder blade. Luke rubbed his cheek against tousled brown hair and blinked hard against the sting in his eyes.

“Gods,” Han said, faintly, by Luke's ear. “When you didn't come by, when Leia said you were gonna leave – I thought I'd lost you again, maybe for good, 'cause of what I … ”

Again? Because of – what? Luke eased away enough to see Han's face. “Han? I never – ”

“Not like that. When I came outta the freeze – kid, you got any idea how different you were? Like you changed more in six months than you did in three years, and there's me trying to find you again.”

Oh. He'd never thought of it like that, really, although he had been lost for a while, after Endor. “Bit of a shock?” Luke tried for a smile.

Han's answering smile looked shaky. “Everything was a shock, at first.”

So many times over the years Luke had wanted to hold this man but there had always been something in the way. It was gone now. Luke gathered him back in close, Han's jaw sliding rough against his own. Han's arms tightened again around Luke's back. He smelled like the medcenter and like himself, and Luke smiled.

“I'm sorry,” Han said some minutes later, soft but distinct.

Luke's brow wrinkled. “For what?”

Han's chest pressed against Luke's as his friend took a deep breath. “For – how things went down, back there.” Han swallowed. “For how I … ”

The man couldn't actually be blaming himself, could he? “You couldn't help that, any of it.”

“I know, but there shoulda been a choice, for both of you.” Another breath and Han stilled, like he was bracing himself. Or holding himself together. “There should always be a choice.”

And Luke choked, suddenly, on air as a dozen little pieces, some of them years old, finally slammed home and together to form a clear, incredibly painful picture. And Luke had, had forced –

Oh, gods. Gods.

“Han.” A tight whisper was all the more Luke could manage. “Yes, there should always be a choice, and Leia and I both made one. There is no blame for you in this, do you hear me? None. But I – ”

“Stop.” Han's fingers dug into Luke's back. “Stop right there. I told you to.”

“But when I – ” Luke swallowed hard. “You said – ”

“I thought I was dreaming again, and it – wasn't you,” Han whispered. “Didn't think you could possibly be real.”

Oh, gods. Luke tipped his head back and swallowed again, dry and painful, his eyes burning. “I love you.”

A quick gasp heaved Han's chest, and then another; no more words, just one small, raw sound. But his arms tightened until Luke's ribs creaked. Han's face pressed warm against his neck, and dampness trickled against Luke's skin.

Luke closed his eyes and held on tight, held on until the storm in his own chest began to subside. Han's breathing eased slowly into quiet as well, his death-grip on Luke gradually loosening. Luke would have more finger-bruises for his collection come the next day, he knew, and he didn't care one bit.

Finally, after minutes or years, Han shifted, and Luke let him go just far enough to see his friend's face.

Han looked at him, red-eyed but calm, with a sort of peace Luke hadn't seen in him before, like some kind of tension that had lived under his skin for as long as Luke had known him had finally dissolved.

“Hey,” Han said softly, with a watery sort of smile. He lifted one hand and brushed the backs of two fingers beneath Luke's left eye, and they came away wet. “Luke … ”

A soft gasp, and Luke and Han both turned. Leia stood poised in the compartment doorway, gripping the edge, wide-eyed and pale. “Han? Luke?”

The smile that broke over Han's face now was full and beautiful, catching Luke in its nimbus. “Leia,” Han said, and held out a hand to her.

She darted toward them and collapsed to the floor and Luke gathered her close, Han's arms coming around them both. She was trembling, apprehension coming sharp-edged through their link. “Leia?”

“It's all right now, sweetheart,” Han murmured. “'s okay. We did it. We talked.”

“And??”

“And – you were right.”

“Oh, thank the Force.” Leia's head dropped onto Luke's shoulder as her tension snapped, Luke felt it go. She slumped against him, practically limp except for where her hand stayed locked firmly with Han's.

Luke looked his question at Han, who shrugged one shoulder. “She told me that you did – love me. Like this. Like I did.” Han's mouth quirked up in his so-familiar crooked grin, an expression that Luke had feared he might never see again, before he leaned forward and kissed Luke on the mouth, easy and sweet. “I told her she was wrong.”

“I'll bet it hurt, admitting I was right,” Leia said, her voice muffled into Luke's shirt.

Han bent and brushed his lips across the nape of her neck. “Just a little.”

Luke realized his mouth was open. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I tried, remember?” Leia said in long-suffering tones, but when she raised her head her eyes were liquid, suspiciously bright. “You wouldn't let me.”

Luke blinked, and Han grinned at him again, broadly, over Leia's shoulder. “Give it up, kid. Even if you're right, you won't win.”

Luke saw the light of joyous battle flash into his sister's eyes, and abruptly his throat went thick and his heart very, very full. “But I did win, Han,” he said softly, and had to bite his lip before he could go on. “This time, we all did.”

*

*