Work Header


Work Text:

Han comes home after some late-night, mostly-legitimate business, exhausted.

He opens the door to his cabin and warm light from behind him throws his distorted shadow onto the foot of his bed.

The bed with two people on it, naked. Luke and Leia, wrapped together and lying perfectly still, but awake.

Time goes all funny, like those first seconds after waking from a dream. Or after plunging into freezing water.

Han nearly snaps, "Very funny, guys," because his mind can only comprehend this as a delusion or a joke and he had only wanted to come home and get some sleep. It had been a long hard week, after all.

On their sides, facing each other. Her thighs pulled up and gripping one of his. Her hair flows like a river seeking the path of least resistance around and over their bodies through whirlpools and rapids, waterfalls. One nipple crowns a pale island.

Han thinks stupidly of the pathafruit he cut open at lunchtime a few days ago and found two pits instead of the usual one, slightly curled together. Had it been a sign? A portent? No, he didn't believe in them. Except that Luke and Leia had gotten the analysis back from their DNA test just a few hours later.

The percentage of certainty that they were twins? Han had said glibly, "That's a lot of nines."

They are not ashamed. They are not surprised. They don't pull apart and cover their nudity. Han realizes that he isn't interrupting them. He's not interrupting anything. He's expected.

When had Luke gotten those tan lines? How was it that Han had never seen him sunbathing in what must have been a very brief garment?

The warm light from the hall glints off of the hair on Luke's legs and arms and chest. It throws his lean muscle into sharp contrast.

Han experiences free fall. It's not that the floor has dropped out from under him — more like it has sunk gently away. One of the two of them — he's not sure which — reaches out without moving and anchors him firmly again. He finds the floor solid under his feet.

Han's next breath surprises him because he can't remember if he's been holding his breath or not. He can't tell, but he doesn't remember breathing.'s not a sex thing, it can't be. Maybe they're just recreating the womb. Something he wouldn't understand. A twin thing, a Force thing, an offspring-of-Vader thing. There's been a lot he doesn't understand about them lately. This almost isn't the weirdest.

He's been on the outside looking in a lot. He still is.

But then Luke pulls his thigh out from between Leia's, the gesture a caress. Han can see the line that divides her between her legs. She's so wet he can see it.

And Luke — Luke resettles himself, legs open, one knee bent, bare foot flat on the bed. He makes it look casual, natural — but it isn't. It's a pose meant to carry a message to Han. Luke is half hard. Below that, gleaming in the low light, is a wetness. Lubricant. Han wonders who applied it. Did Luke do it to himself or did Leia do it for him? Or did they do it together, a finger from each inside moving in him? Getting him ready for...

Oh. So it is about sex then. And it's clearly about Han too.

Leia shifts against Luke slightly, pulling her knee up over his thigh. Her mouth is against his jaw, trying to hide a smile. She's amused at Han's hesitation.

What he must look like, standing here staring at them.

There are footsteps somewhere behind Han and Chewie calls out a weary goodnight. Han has forgotten the door is still open and this amazing — confounding — flabbergasting sight is on display for any Wookie or droid who happens by. He is frozen in the doorway.

But Luke and Leia, it seems, wish to keep their privacy. An invisible hand pulls him two steps forward, inside of the room and the door shuts behind him.

Han understands something when the Force pressure leaves him then. That they could pull him to the bed and strip him without moving a muscle. He is outnumbered and outgunned.

They won't, though. They're letting him choose to react rather than just hauling him in. But they already know he wants this, like they've been reading his damn mind.

He had imagined something like this scenario with each of them separately. Never both together. Not because he was opposed to it, but because he believed so deeply that they would be that it seemed completely off the table.

It had been a lot of nines after all.

"If we hadn't found out, we would have figured it out eventually," they had sighed over their DNA results.

Eyes on the immobile Han, less patient than her brother, Leia raises her head. She drags her lips from Luke's jaw to cheek, lower lip pulled down by the movement. He turns to her and their lips touch.

And it's like Han has never seen anyone kiss before — had no concept of it. One person's lips touching another's? It feels odd. Terribly and wonderfully taboo. Like he's witnessing something new, an invention of theirs.

One breast sways slightly with Leia's movement. Her nipple bumps Luke's chest and rests there, touching his own and they are the same color.

Yes. The smalls of their backs, the arches of their bare feet. The shape of their knuckles and wrist bones. The shade of his skin, between the tan lines, is the same as hers. Yes they would have figured it out.

They seem to have come to some agreement of what the news would mean to them.

He thinks they are doing this to help themselves understand. Inhibitions and personal boundaries loosened by the war and victory, personal losses strengthen the rediscovered bond. These two must have lain awake all the nights of their lives trying to puzzle out why they felt like part of themselves was missing. And this is the way they've found to start to put it right.

These measures to seduce him weren't needed, although he likes them plenty all the same.

And this is the moment where he proves himself. They've outfoxed him, gotten the jump on him and left him speechless and hesitating. This is the moment he has to play it off to save face. He should say something like, "Another threesome? This'll make my third one this week, but what the hell?" or maybe, "I'm overdressed for this party, aren't I?" Then he'll get in there with them and be everything they could want — need — imagine.

Han licks his lips. They turn to him expectantly. "Well," Han says. A decent start. "Well, you two... uh, my bed and all? I mean, I just come home and it's like... this, and so..."

The words won't come out. He curses to himself. But they're not here to listen to him talk. He steps forward, and they reach for him, smiling.

And just when he'd grown into a man who didn't need rewards.