"I've got the money!" Han tells Greedo. He lowers his voice and tries a slightly more subtle tactic. "I'm sure I can make it worth your while to keep this between you and me."
Every negotiation is a dance, even a flirtation, but some are far flirtier than others.
"What do you have in mind?"
Han slumps a little more, working open his leg holster. "What do *you* have in mind?"
Greedo still has the blaster leveled right at Han's heart. He tilts his head, however, thinking it over.
"I don't have all day," Han points out.
Greedo shakes his snout. "You have as long as Jabba says."
Han raises his index finger and grins. "No, as long as *you* say."
Greedo swallows. "That...is true. The first intelligent thing you've said, Solo."
"Oh, I've got a million of 'em," Han replies. "You and me, we need to get to know each other better, don't you think?"
It's the simplest sort of psychology, and it works on any sentient -- hell, a lot of non- and semi-sentients, too. A little flattery here, some stroking there, and Han's more likely than not to get his way.
"Hmm," Greedo says. His forked tongue flickers out. "Your reputation precedes you."
Han grins. "Which one? Got a million of those, too."
Greedo looks right, then left, then right again. His bulbous eyes roll more freely in their sockets than a human's. Keeping the blaster aimed, he leans over the table.
Han leans over to meet him. Greedo's tongue flickers out again.
"You've been known to be flexible in debt repayments."
Han rubs his chin, nodding slowly. True enough; the less he has to spend, the better. "Might have."
Out of the corner of his eye, Han sees that the tow-headed farmboy is back, staring around the cantina like everyone's his next best friend.
"...in agreement, then," Greedo says. His tongue moves, quick and light, in the space between them, then against Han's nose and upper lip. It tickles, and it should probably be disgusting, but Greedo is cackling and the last thing Han needs is to piss him off now that everything's going so well.
"You're the boss," Han says, sitting back nice and slow, waiting for his opening. He just needs half a second, and Greedo'll be deader than a dragon bat sucked into the Falcon's motivator.
But Greedo's lowering the blaster and reaching for Han's hand, and Han misses his chance because there's that damn kid again, getting right up between them, babbling about some droid and the old man and how long is Han going to be anyway?
Which, so far as Han can tell, is how he ends up dragged to his feet by a hapless Rodian who's telling the kid to wait outside, he and Captain Solo are just going to "conclude some negotiations". This phrase gets accompanied by the strangest attempt at a wink and a leer that Han's ever seen. And he's seen a lot.
"Sorry, kid," Han says, going with it. Greedo's grip on his arm is much stronger than he would have expected. "Be with you just as soon as I can --"
"Or feel free to accompany us," Greedo says. "You *are* a pretty little thing."
The kid gapes after them. Han shrugs, exaggerating his helplessness, miming "what can you do? Rodians, right?!"
At that, the kid nods to himself, like he's making up his mind, coming to some kind of great decision, and so *that* is how Han finds himself in one of the cantina's back stalls. He is sandwiched between a horny Rodian scent-marking his neck and face and a pretty farmboy shifting from foot to foot and trying to get away.
"Oh, no, kid, you're in on this now, too," Han says, a little desperately, as Greedo works those long-fingered hands up under his shirt, tugging it out of his trousers.
"I don't like this..." Luke says.
Greedo's fingertips have tiny little suction cups on them and they feel cool, not at all slimy, and --.
"Oh!" Han jumps and makes a series of not-at-all embarrassing squeaks when they brush over his nipples. "Greedo, you surprising, *delightful* little saurian. Do that again."
Han grips Greedo's waist and rolls their hips together. He can feel Luke just behind him, huffing in disapproval.
"Get to work, Sss-so-lo," Greedo hisses. Interesting. More aroused he gets, more slurred and viper-like his voice. It'd be even more interesting if his reactions were slowed, too.
"He's a spaceship captain!" Luke protests. Oh, so *now* he thinks Han's due a little respect? Flighty bastard. "You can't do this, you can't just --"
"Sure he can," Han says, slow and sexy, really laying it on. He cups Greedo's cool cheek affectionately and pats it a few times. "Me and Greedo here have what you might call a mutually-arousing arrangement."
"Yesssss." Greedo twists Han's nipples and licks at his jaw, then addresses Luke over Han's shoulder. Damn him, but the green bastard seems to know what he's doing. Han's half-hard and more than willing to go through with this. "Why don't you help your captain, youngling?"
"He's still learning," Han says. Last thing he needs is the old man on his case for debauching the local youth before they even break gravity. "Just let him watch, Greedo. This is man's work."
"Hey!" Luke says, but settles down when Han glances over his shoulder. He adds sullenly, sounding *exactly* his age, "Fine."
He's a farmboy. They've seen everything. Han reassures himself of this while Greedo strips his shirt down his arms and applies that weird, magic tongue of his to Han's chest.
Han isn't entirely sure where Rodians might be erogenous, given that they're just...green, green and smooth and pliable, so he mimics Greedo's movements, adds in a couple ass squeezes and rolls of the hips. Everyone likes an ass squeeze or two, he's found. Beyond that, though, he's flummoxed.
"What've you got in mind, big guy?" Han asks when Greedo's done his flick-lick-smell routine all around Han's chest. "How can I make you feel *real* good?"
He knows full well he sounds like the cheapest kind of holo-porn, but he'd have to say he's doing very well considering he was almost dead or, worse, in Jabba's clutches just half an hour ago.
Luke's breathing loudly behind him. Greedo's all but panting in front of him. He brushes Han's crotch, lightly, then more firmly. Thinking of those strong, slender fingers on him, working his cock -- funnily enough, Han doesn't mind this, not at all. Nice when things work out so much better than you expect.
Maybe the kid's his lucky charm. Wouldn't that just be a kick in the ass?
"Use your mouth," Greedo says.
Han opens his mouth but can't think of what to say. He hears Luke gasp behind him, and he would like, very much, to be able to consider himself *slightly* quicker on the uptake than a desert farmboy who's never been off-planet, so he hides his own surprise and says, "Thought you'd never ask."
"Han!" Luke says.
Greedo's got his hand on Han's head now, pushing inexorably down, and, hell, it's not like Han's never been in this position before. There are some stretches of his personal history where he's been happier just here, on his knees, cracking open his jaw, than just about anywhere. So even with the kid gasping and carrying on, and Greedo cackling as he peels down his breeches, Han's okay.
He's okay. He knows what he's doing. He can do this, even if he's still pretty damn hard himself and even if the kid's now kneeling beside him, snaking his arm around Han's waist like Han needs both emotional and physical support -- which he does *not*, for the record, neither of them -- and even, especially, if Rodians have forked cocks.
Forked cocks, with *spikes* that catch like burrs on a man's lips and cheek and tongue. They don't hurt, exactly, they just hold tight and Greedo's hand does the rest, pushing Han's head down. At least the cock isn't nearly as long as their fingers, Han thinks, and laughs a little, which comes out like a moan, which Greedo really likes, if his thrusting hips and hand flexing in Han's hair are any indication.
Luke's breath is hot on his neck. The kid is actually leaning in to look, to *watch*, just like Greedo told him to, and he's a light, warm pressure against Han's side. He tightens his arm around Han's waist and his hair brushes, silky and soft, Han's ear.
"Yess-ssss," Greedo breathes out when Luke takes the other fork in his mouth. Pale pink lips on swollen green make a lovely smear at the corner of Han's vision. "Oh, yes-sss-sss."
Han hollows his cheeks. The spikes ride the inside of his lips while the cock itself tilts and swells against his palate. Greedo thrusts harder, ass coming away from the wall, so Han slips his hand back there, then back toward himself. His touch was expecting balls, something, but there's just this throbbing slit that the cocks emerge from; when he strokes the edge of the slit, Greedo burbles and grabs at him, hard, claws in Han's scalp.
Han has, over the years, gotten pretty good at not thinking when he doesn't want to, so he's not thinking of a hell of a lot right now, including, but not limited to: those breathy little gasps that Luke keeps giving up; how Greedo has stumbled on just the right amount of pull and twist on Han's hair to get him all the way hard, and then some; how much time is passing and whether the old man's going to come looking for them; what the kid's mouth might taste like after this is done; what *Greedo* is going to taste like, if this strangely numbing sharpness is just a hint.
No, not thinking of any of that.
Luke makes a strangled, half-choking sound and Han tries to pull away, to see, to help but the *spikes*, and Greedo's hand, and then he's choking, too, as Greedo comes and comes, long ropy spurts of chilly, almost soapy, fluid. Luke sags against him, and Han almost topples, rights them both, and finally, finally, Greedo's spikes just sort of...*retract*, go dull and shrink, and he can move away, breathe again, spit.
"Why'd you shoot his side first?" Han demands. "You know he probably couldn't handle it."
"There is no first," Greedo replies. "There is only --"
Han waves him off. "Forget it."
Luke has green come smeared on his chin, down his cheek, and his lips are swollen. Bright red, scratched a little raw from the spikes, those lips are *distracting*.
Greedo tucks himself back in and he looks so damn smug that Han wishes he could shoot the bastard right here. "Ahh, Solo, for once you do not disappoint."
"Here, kid, you're a mess --" He licks his thumb and tries to clean up Luke's mouth. Luke turns away, eyes closing, and his cheek is hot to the touch. "Ah, come on, *now* you're embarrassed?"
At some point, Greedo pushes past them, strutting out of Han's life, but now Han's stuck with this kid who's shifting from foot to foot, hard-on outlined by his thin desert trousers. There's even a tiny wet spot, right there.
It occurs to Han that perhaps he should apologize, but that's ridiculous. The kid followed him here, basically invited himself to the grown-ups' confab, knelt down on his own power: there's nothing Han can possibly be blamed for. And since when is he supposed to be responsible for just another passenger?
"C'mere," Han says roughly, pulling him in so Luke can hide his face against Han's neck. He works his hand between them, stroking the kid nice and slow, friendly, and says, lips on his ear, "Just between you and me, right?"
Luke nods against him, gulping air, rubbing his cheek on Han's vest. He's going to stain the damn thing, isn't he? He shakes a little when Han gets his cock out, then goes still.
Seems like Han's going to have to take care of *everything* today. He licks his palm, works open his own fasteners, then with a shift and a shimmy, turns them around so Luke's against the wall and Han's wrapping his hand around both their dicks. Luke's head falls back, light breaking over his face, turning everything gold and red -- cheeks, open swollen mouth, long graceful neck.
Good thing this trip's just a simple one-stop passenger drop-off to Alderaan. Any longer, and this kid would be the death of him.
Luke is moving now, hips working in rough semi-circles, the fabric of his pants catching and purring on the rough wall, and when Han leans in -- just to kiss him! -- Luke's arms go around his neck and he wraps one leg around the back of Han's knees, and he's sort of...silky and hot and strong against Han, draped on him but also holding him up, his dick dragging against Han's even as his tongue does the same in Han's mouth.
He does taste like Greedo, a little, and sweet, too, and just really *wet*. He fucks hard and fast into Han's hand and hangs on like Han's some kind of holo-hero swooping in to save the day, and when Han starts coming, Luke tightens his hold and moves faster, faster, until he's catching up and their dicks are jumping together out of Han's grasp, shooting, the come overspilling, running down Han's wrist.
Han braces his free hand on the wall until he gets his breath back and his balance returns from whatever system it's fucked off to. He stinks of sweat and three kinds of come and he'd love a drink, except for that whole thing where now he has to go fly a spaceship.
Luke's cheeks are fever-red and his hair is mussed beyond belief. His eyes widen when Han licks his hand clean. The tip of his own tongue darts at the corner of his mouth, as if it's learning on its own.
"There," Han says, then clears his throat so he doesn't sound *quite* so happily fucked. "All set?"
Luke stirs, shivering a little, like he's coming to, and then looks at Han, really *peers* at him. Deadly eyes on this one.
"What? You're not getting a ring, kid," Han says, turning, pushing through the stall curtain. "I'm not *that* easy."