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"And here's a little extra for you --" Lando orders another round, his smile glowing blue under the lights here. He uses Han's credits for the tip, sneaking a glance over to assure himself he wasn't observed.

No. Han's sprawled in the big chair next to him, watching a petite Twi'lek do her thing on the small dais. He's nearly horizontal, one knee swinging back and forth out of time with the music.

"Nice, huh?" Han asks, struggling a little more upright when he sees Lando watching him. He needs a haircut; he spends more time shaking the hair out of his eyes than talking, and that's really saying something. He tips his chin toward the Twi'lek. "What do you think?"

Lando shrugs and drinks down his ale. "Pretty. Bit undersized."

"That's a good thing, man!" Han shouts, grabbing Lando's forearm and shaking it hard. "You want 'em, you know. Little and flexible. Lift 'em up, have your way with 'em...you know."

Lando checks the Twi'lek girl again. She's got her hands on her breasts and she's not dancing so much as...walking in place. Her headtails twitch listlessly.

This club is not living up to its reputation. Lando would like to have some words with whomever's responsible for that.

Solo's still squeezing Lando's arm. When Lando glances down, then over at him, Han seems to realize. He shrugs, grinning, takes back his hand to run it through his hair.

"Just prefer someone --" Lando finishes the ale and picks up the next. "Little broader through the beam."

Han squints, confusion rippling over his face. "Like..." He uses his hands to draw an outline figure in the air. The proportions are ridiculous, curves impossible on any female humanoid, but nicely suggestive. "Like that?"

"Sure," Lando replies. "That girl in here earlier, with the red braids?"

"The one who could crack you in two with her thighs?"

"The very one." Lando raises his glass in salute, then drinks down. "A little whiff of danger goes a long way, friend."

"Huh." Han rubs his chin, considering it, even as the Twi'lek drops off her dais to dance over his thigh. He's distracted - loops his free arm around her waist absentmindedly, even dips his face between her breasts as if it's just the polite thing to do - and pays her without a second glance. As soon as she's gone, he's leaning back over. "You ever been with one of those, what're they called? Giantesses?"

Lando nods slowly, letting his smile widen even more slowly. "A Kerbian? Indeed. Glorious."

"Yeah," Han says, "yeah, that's what I --."

"Surprised you haven't," Lando says, interrupting him. "Aren't you -- how's it go? 'Extensively experienced beyond rational comprehension, seen and done things that'd keep me up at night'?"

"Well, sure, of course." Han reclines in his chair, his knee rocking again. "Missed one sentient species, that hardly says --"

"She was an experience and a half," Lando tells him, and that's all it takes for Han to lean in again, eagerly. Not that he'd ever admit it, but no matter.

Han licks his lower lip, shoves the hair out of his eyes, and says, low and private, "So? Care to share or...?"

"You need a haircut," Lando says instead, just to see fury overtake him in an instant, red face, snarling mouth, body thrown back violently.

"Get fucked, Calrissian!"

"That's the plan, isn't it?" Lando hands over the next round. "Or have your plans changed?"

Han drinks half his ale, then gets up, still furious, fists balled tight, and stalks away to...who knows where. He'll be back.

In the meantime, Lando enjoys the attentions of a lovely pair of Cilarians claiming to be twins. They're a little more interested in each other than in him, but that has, of course, its own charms, so he pays in advance for the girl on the left to give the one on the right a lap dance, and gets more comfortable to watch.

When they're finished, the dancer is beaded and streaked with sweat, and her partner is breathing hard. Han still isn't back. Lando tips them well and looks around for something else to do.

"You don't have to bite a guy's face off!" he hears Han shout, and his heart drops a little. Of course he's making trouble. The kid probably hasn't gotten through a night without getting his ass kicked since he sprouted the first couple hairs on his balls.

Lando drags himself to his feet, adjusts his cape, then makes for the bar, where the altercation is already escalating. The bartender has Han in a headlock, and a very large, incredibly attractive Vendaran is threatening to slice Han into gourmet filets to feed to her pittins.

"What seems to be the problem?" Lando asks, stepping forward. He doesn't acknowledge Han, instead addressing the Vendaran. "My lady?"

Her sneer vanishes; white ringlets bounce as she turns to him. "You in charge here?"

To his left, Han barks out a laugh. Still ignoring him, Lando gives her a regretful shake of the head and slight bow. "Merely a bystander, concerned that a lovely Vendaran, alone in the Inner Core, might be encountering some..." He turns to Han, lets his eyes slide over him, then turns back to her. "Some untoward attentions from a member of the rougher classes."

"Go to hell, Calrissian," Han hisses. "Rougher classes, my hairy ass!"

"You see?" Lando says, gesturing to Han before turning his back on him. "Perhaps I could buy you some libation? Something to clear the bad taste in the air?"

She accepts, and although Lando knows that Han is sending him the most poisonous, homicidal thoughts he can muster up, he manages to enjoy a very nice time with her. Sadly, she was only in the club to pick up her girlfriend, so Lando bids her a fond, regretful farewell.

"You. Are. Dead," Han mutters, shouldering Lando aside to get through the back exit. "What sort of bullshit sabacc are you playing?"

Lando steps out into the muggy night and takes a deep breath. "That club was disappointing, I am sorry. I was promised a much more rollicking experience."

Han's pacing the back alley, kicking at trash and the occasional rock. He whirls on his heel and jabs his finger at Lando. "Disappointing? Disappointing, he says!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Lando says, tugging straight the hem of his cape. "Would you have preferred dying at the hand of a very charming Vendaran fencing champion?"

"All I asked was --" Han stops. "Fencing?"

"All kinds of sword work, apparently," Lando says. "She's highly accomplished. How did you manage to irritate her?"

Han looks away, squinting, sucking on his cheek. "Dunno."

"I'm sure you don't," Lando says, very generously.

"And there you were, gladhanding her! Flirting and chuckling, making those smoldering eyes at her!" Han spits, then seems to lose all energy. He slumps back against the far wall, jamming his hands into his breeches' pockets. "Asshole."

"Aw," Lando says, joining him, knocking his shoulder against Han's. "Jealous?"

Han doesn't answer for a bit. "Broad through the beam, you said."

"I did, I did." Lando pats Han's thigh. "Well-heard, kid. Didn't think you listened that close."

"I'm three years younger than you," Han says, perfunctorily. "Not a kid."

"Given how terrible a co-pilot you are, I was beginning to doubt you could hear much of anything at all."

"Ha. You're a funny one, you know that?" Han tips back his head to look up at the slice of sky visible between the jutting buildings. "Real funny."

"So, what? I say I happen to like women with some heft and height, and you go out, try to pick up the biggest girl you can find?" Lando isn't holding his breath, yet he feels the pressure of waiting, silence filling up the space between them, thickening.

Han rolls over until he's just got his shoulder braced on the wall. Hair in his eyes, open-mouthed smirk, sweat on his chest where his shirt's tugged open. Lando takes it in, and keeps waiting.

"Made it sound --" Han shrugs. "Intriguing. Getting manhandled. Tossed about. It's got a certain appeal."

"It does indeed," Lando says, shifting against the wall a little, bringing their legs into contact. "I must say, I'm flattered that you'd pursue one of my own preferences."

Han's looking down. His lashes brush his cheeks. "Could've shared. That's worked well."

"It has," Lando agrees, smiling now, rubbing his palms together. "Quite well."

Han nudges his chest forward, bumping Lando's arm, then again. "Maybe next time."

"Alas, tonight will have to go down as a disappointment," Lando says, and waits again. "Shame. Worked up quite a..."

"Yeah," Han agrees. "Me, too."

Lando elbows him gently. "You, too, what?"

Han rolls his eyes. For such a mouthy little shit, he certainly can get frustratingly silent when he wants to. But then he rolls his hips, butting Lando's side, and reaches under Lando's cape to palm his crotch.

"Thought so," he says eventually. "Better take care of that."

Lando lifts an eyebrow. "I'm fairly well-acquainted with what to do."

"Oh, I know," Han says, almost hotly, and he's smirking now, squeezing Lando's fly in quick, rhythmic throbs. "Lot more fun getting some help, though."

"You make an excellent point." Lando slides his arm around Han's broad shoulders - he's filled out quite a bit in the short time they've worked together; it's remarkable what regular, decent nutrition can do - and, hand in the back of his shaggy hair, guides him downward.

"Hey, wait just one second, I --" Han protests, but he's sinking to his knees, unlacing Lando's flies with both hands as quickly and neatly as he fixes, rewires, and bypasses sudden dysfunction on the Falcon. Even as he draws out Lando's cock, he glances up and mutters, "Asshole."

"Yes," Lando says, smiling, and blows him a kiss.

Han grunts, pumping Lando's cock, leaning in.

Lando tousles his hair, then tightens his grip on it. Tilting his hips forward, he watches Han chase the head with his mouth. This is what the waiting leads to, this open-mouthed, drool-heavy silence, Han on his knees with his eyes drifting closed and lips closing, almost reverently, around the head of Lando's cock. He's full to spilling with spit, hot, running fast out the corners of his mouth, sucking Lando in deeper, deeper, until he's swallowing and tightening.

Lando rocks forward, pushing, twisting Han's long hair around his fingers, watching the base of his dick slip out, then disappear, between Han's smart, stupid, beautiful lips. His balls nudge Han's chin, fall away, hit again. Han is moaning already - it usually takes him longer to let go like this - rumbling and rippling noises that run right through Lando's cock, up his spine, twisting in his balls, driving him faster and faster.

Han lifts his face, Lando's cock popping out of his throat, his cheeks hollowing as he meets Lando's eyes, then shoves down, faster, swallowing, so tight and slick that Lando's got both hands in his hair now, holding him, fucking his throat, tugging up Han's chin to fix the angle just right.

Han's eyes are wide, shining, sweat streaking his face, as Lando comes. The corners of his lips twitch, around Lando's shaft. The fucker is *smirking* even as Lando pumps down his throat, across his tongue. Han locks his lips and doesn't let Lando pull out, not until Lando meets his gaze again.

Lando uses one corner of his cape to dab the sweat off his forehead.

Han sits back on his heels, swiping his arm across his face. He shifts, spreading his legs a little, rubbing the heel of his hand against his crotch.

"Comfortable down there?" Lando asks.

Han grunts and shakes the hair, spiky with sweat now, out of his eyes. "It's okay."

"Come on," Lando says, offering him his hand, pulling him up.

Han presses against him, briefly, hopefully, but Lando backs him up against the wall. One hand on Han's shoulder, the other opening his breeches, Lando works quickly, even dispassionately. When he closes his fingers around Han's cock - it's damp with sweat, the head sticky with pre-come - Han moans again, then catches himself, bites off the noise and buries his face against Lando's shoulder. He thrusts into Lando's hand, fucking ragged and desperate. He's always so quick, so desperate to feel good before it gets taken away, that it could break a man's heart.

Wait too long, and getting what you want can hurt worse than anything.

Lando presses his cheek against the side of Han's skull, lips grazing the top of Han's ear, and twists his hold, working his thumb against the ridge below Han's cockhead, a little roughly, enough to make Han moan again. He's so endearingly predictable. His chest heaves against Lando, hips jackrabbiting. His moan breaks into gasps when he starts to come.

Lando smoothes back Han's hair, pulling out the last of his orgasm, aiming it to the ground, or Han, just away from his own trousers.

"There," he says, flapping out a handkerchief and wiping clean his hand before offering it to Han. "Better?"

Han's head is hanging down. Anything could be coming next; Lando has seen him lash out as often as he's bitten his tongue and sniffled against tears.

He shoves himself back in and does up his breeches. In those few moments, he shakes off whatever maudlin mood was threatening to steal over him. He hipchecks Lando as he pushes past. "Never better. Nightcap?"

"You paying?" Lando asks.

Han turns, arms spread, head cocked. "Have we met?"

Lando flicks back his cape and, sighing deeply, follows.