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one night on the falcon

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If Han was the kind of guy who thought about things like this, the idea of fucking Lando Calrissian in the ship he'd used to own would have fallen somewhere on the Cool side of the prospective ideas spectrum, probably shading to the Not really likely to happen but still fun to think about group. They were on opposite sides of the galaxy, after all, and Han was fully involved in finding out just how good he was as a pilot. Running contraband for the Hutt didn't really leave a lot of time for catching up with old friends, much less the guy who probably would have been as likely to dump Han out of an airlock as say hi to him.

The universe being what she was (a bitch with a twisted sense of humor), of course, meant that not even a standard year after Han won the Falcon, he found himself half-on/half-off his bunk, his clothes scattered down the passageway to his cabin, one knee braced on the floor and the other pushed up onto the bunk so that he was spread wide for Lando to fuck.

Or not fuck, as it happened, because Lando was all about dragging things out, giving Han just a taste of what he wanted, playing with his dick and balls and ass until Han felt like he might shake apart if he didn't get more.

"Easy, baby," Lando kriffing crooned, his voice low and too damn smooth to be real. He bit a quick, stinging path across the top of Han's back, his teeth sharp and his beard soft. "Easy."

"Fuck you," Han gasped, scrabbling for leverage, for something to brace himself with so he could push back, take more of the cock that Lando had been pressing just inside him, get more than just that first hard burn, feel how much he was going to have to take.

"Mmm," Lando said. "Maybe next time." His fingers tightened on Han's hips and his thigh pushed Han's higher on the bunk. Han got the message: Lando was in charge and Han could just take it. At the same time, though, Lando stopped playing around and started fucking Han for real, one deep, hard thrust after another, so Han didn't feel like he absolutely needed to turn around and deck the guy.

"Promises, promises," he managed to grit out before Lando did something, changed the angle of his thrust so his cock started hitting the exact right spot inside Han and he had to shove his fist in his mouth to stop all the noises being torn out of him.

"So gorgeous," Lando was saying. "You take it so gorgeous." He sounded uneven and breathless, almost babbling; Han knew a sudden wild hope that it meant Lando was close to the edge, too, because he didn't see much chance of him holding out much longer. Having to beg for it wasn't exactly how he'd seen this night ending, but he could feel his control slipping away a little more every time Lando fucked his cock into him.

Lando kept going, though, used the strength in his thighs to keep Han's legs spread wide and his hips high so there was no way Han could rub himself off against the bunk, kept that same bruising rhythm until Han lost the battle with his mouth and heard wild, gasping pleas come spilling out of him.

"Gods," Lando groaned in answer, his voice almost desperate. Any other time Han would have been loving that, but here, now, it barely even registered. Lando let go of his hips to rake his nails down the length of Han's back, hot, burning scratches that stung even more as the sweat got to them. He did it again, going lower, striping over Han's ass and the back of his thighs, and Han bucked up into him like a mark in a cheap hustle. "You're so -- feel so --"

Han had a very strong feeling he wasn't going to be able to deal with the end of that--this couldn't be anything more than a quick fuck to finish off things between them, it couldn't, he knew it as sure as he knew his own name--so he fought with the part of his brain that wanted to do nothing more than push back, take Lando deeper, ride that cock until he was screaming, fought with it until it let him get his foot braced against the floor and shift his hips so he could reach for his cock. He'd go off like a hyperdrive engine as soon as he touched himself, but right as he got there, so close he could feel the heat of his own hand, Lando grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm up behind his back and everything came crashing down around him.

Han froze, his vision telescoping in as a half-dozen memories masquerading as nightmares came boiling out of the slime-ridden, dark corners of his brain. Dimly, from far, far away, he heard Lando panting, no, no, none of that, I'll take care of you, and knew he was reaching across Han to where his other wrist was braced against the bulkhead, but Han himself was gone inside his head, curled up there into a protective ball, waiting for the kick, the backhand, the sharp arc of pain from a stinger, that particular crack of leather across bare skin. He wasn't that kid now--he knew how to take care of himself--but just for a split-second he couldn't even breathe. Then he snapped himself out of it, came back to the bunk on the Falcon, half a galaxy away from Corellia and Lady Proxima's thugs--away and gone and on his own ship, just like he'd spent half his life dreaming of and scheming for.

The first breath back in was always painful, like his body couldn't quite let go even after his brain came back online, but it was just one breath, and Han knew he hadn't frozen for all that long. Out of necessity, he'd gotten good at kicking himself back into reality when shit refused to stay buried. It hadn't killed him yet, so y'know, he was good. This was the first time he'd been so close to someone else when it happened, though, and Lando had dropped both his wrists before Han had even gotten that first breath in, going still and silent behind Han.

"Sorry," Han muttered, turning his face into the pillow so he didn't have to watch the rest of the night fall apart in real time. "'S not you, not even the sex, just … my druking life rearing its druking head."

Lando didn't speak for what seemed like forever but was only the space of a few breaths, but then said, "Everybody's got something, baby." His voice had lost that edge that it always seemed to have; he sounded serious, almost somber. "Ain't no thing."

A little more tension bled out of Han's muscles at the words, and the rest of the world trickled back in, enough that when Lando made to pull out, Han was shaking his head before he even thought about it. "Don't stop," he breathed. His body wasn't screaming for release now, but it wasn't uninterested in getting there either. Lando hesitated, long enough that Han swallowed hard and added, "Please."

"Look at me," Lando said. He hadn't gone back to fucking Han, but he hadn't walked away yet either, so Han sighed and lifted his head to look back over his shoulder.

"Honestly," he groused, his voice almost normal, "the things a guy's gotta do for a fuck."

Lando looked at Han carefully, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He didn't smile, not exactly, but his eyes held the promise of one.

"Oh, yeah," Lando drawled as he ran his hands down Han's back. "You do live a hard life." His voice and touch were indulgent, like Han was something skittish and wild to be tamed. Before Han could think that through, though, Lando had shifted his hips, pressing his cock deeper into Han before slowly drawing it back out. He did it again that way, slow and thorough, and then again, and Han didn't even try to muffle the whine as he let his head drop back to the pillow. "I got you," Lando told him on another lazy stroke. He bent close, so his breath danced over Han's skin. "Take care of you," he said, his voice dropping lower with each word, smooth and rich and warm.

"Sure thing, pal," Han said, slurring a little and arching up for more skin-to-skin contact. Lando breathed out a quiet laugh and then settled down over Han, his hips still moving in that easy, unhurried rhythm. Han let him do his thing and just tried to stay on top of everything washing over him: the fading adrenaline from the panic attack bleeding into the way he could feel Lando pushing into him, Lando’s voice murmuring quietly in his ear, how his own body was stretching and relaxing to take Lando’s. Lando fucked him slow and easy, right up until he didn't, until he was chivvying Han up to his hands and knees and driving into him.

"Come on," Han rasped. "Let me feel you, Calrissian." He dropped down to his elbows and rested his forehead on the bunk. Lando had straightened up, to get more leverage; the only place they were touching now was where Lando was fucking into him. Han maybe missed the the full-body coverage, but gods, was he liking how Lando could use his cock. He spread his legs a little wider, hissing at the strain on his thighs but more than willing to trade that off for how much deeper it let Lando push into him. "Come on."

Lando finished with three wicked, driving thrusts; Han could see the dim, shadowy outline of his body in the dull metal finish of the bulkhead, arched back in a near-perfect bow. They stayed that way for endless seconds, but then Lando slid out of Han and curled back down over him. Han could feel the tremors still wracking the muscles pressed against him; if he was a better person, he’d tell Lando there wasn’t a rush, that he’d be good whenever Lando caught his breath. He wasn’t, though, because all he could do was groan at the loss of the hard pressure inside him and push back into the heavy, comforting weight, wordlessly begging for more.

"I got you," Lando whispered hoarsely. "Got you." He dragged his mouth down Han's back, one long, slow, open-mouthed kiss that didn't end until he licked up into Han, his tongue dancing lightly over where he'd just fucked Han open and his fingers tracing complicated patterns on Han's thighs and hips.

"Ah, kriff," Han swore, half-strangling himself as he tried to breathe at the same time. Lando stopped tongue-fucking him long enough to laugh; he sounded half-drunk or maybe just high on endorphins, but he at least went right back to work. Han held it together until Lando slipped a finger in alongside his tongue, curving it exactly right and not letting up the pressure. Han choked out a few more choice words he'd picked up from the Hutt; Lando predictably didn't let any of that hurry him along.

"Your turn," Lando said finally, wrapping his free hand around Han's cock. He stripped it lazily, but didn't stop Han from rocking into his fist and then back onto his fingers. "That's it, baby, fuck yourself for me."

"Though you were s'pposed to be doing that for me," Han gasped. He could feel his climax building, a slowly tightening spiral in his belly and thighs that inched closer and closer to completion every time he pushed his cock into Lando's fist, every time he took Lando's fingers deep. It wasn’t going to happen fast enough though, not to keep from having to beg for it.

"You really want me to finish this?" Lando asked, back to that smooth voice that flowed over Han like the priciest of drugs. "Is that what you want?"

"Yes." Han tried to snap the word out, but it came out more a plea. He was shaking like a leaf, his cock and balls aching to come. "Yes," he repeated in what was barely a whisper.

"I got you," Lando answered, flicking his thumb and forefinger up to catch the very tip of Han's cock in one tight, twisting pinch after another after another. Han howled, his body jerking as it tried to process the sudden pain-laced pleasure, and then came in a blinding rush that swept his legs out from under him and left him shaking and spent.

Lando stayed with him for longer than Han expected, petting and stroking him until Han's breathing was back to normal, but then sliding off the bunk before Han could marshal any serious thought processes. He disappeared into the 'fresher and Han rolled onto his back, throwing one arm up over his eyes to block the suddenly too-bright lighting.

"You gone?" Han said without looking as Lando came back out of the 'fresher.

"Got people waitin' on me," Lando said. "Those sabacc hands aren't going to play themselves."

Han snorted. Lando crossed the room to stand next to the bunk and look down at Han. He was dressed again, everything neat and tidy, even his damn shirt cuffs buttoned and smooth, his cape over one arm. Han purposely did not think about his own clothes scattered across the length of the ship or about what shape they were probably in. He was pretty sure they'd ripped his shirt when they couldn't get the lacings undone.

"Sorry to delay you," he snarked.

It was Lando's turn to snort. "No, you're not."

"I'm not getting a sorry-to-have-been-delayed vibe from you, so let's call it even." Han dropped his arm but didn't do anything much beyond the sheet that was twisted around him to cover up. Lando's eyes swept over him slowly and for a couple of seconds Han thought they were going to be going for another round, waiting hands of sabacc be damned.

"You leaving soon?" Lando asked instead.

Han shrugged. "Soon as Chewie gets back from his little R&R jaunt."

"Come by the game if you have the time," Lando suggested.

"Yeah, I'm thinking no," Han said. He reached up and ran a possessive hand over the bulkhead. "No sense tempting fate--and that card up your sleeve."

Lando rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything, just turned and crossed over to the hatch to the passageway. He stroked the edge, not possessively, like Han, but more of a caress. El-Three, Han thought. Lando wasn't going to appreciate any acknowledgement of that, though, so Han kept his mouth shut.

"Han," Lando said, stopping with one foot out of the hatch. "There's no shame if you don't want it, but if you're ever inclined to," he hesitated as though he was looking for the right word, which Han actually didn't think ever happened with Lando. "If you're ever inclined to lean into all the druk your life's left you with, I can take you there."

His smile was all about the eyes again, and then he was gone and Han was alone and free to make what he could from the evening. One thing was for certain, he thought as he dragged himself off the bunk and to the small sonic shower in the 'fresher: all the energy that had ricocheted around while they'd been stealing the coaxium off Kessel hadn't been just for show.

Han let the sonic run for a long time and took stock, both physically and mentally. He was going to have bruises on his hips and his legs were already bitching about how overused they'd been. He probably had beard burn on his shoulders and back and ass and sitting was going to be no damn fun for at least a day or so. And all of that was before he got to the part about losing his shit in the middle of sex and Lando, of all people, turning out to be cool with it all. Han seriously had no idea what to do with that.

With any luck, Chewie wouldn't show up for a couple of days and Han would have enough time to get his game face back on. He really didn't want to think about what Chewie was going to say about Han fucking Lando.

Moving a little easier once he'd loosened up the muscles in his back and legs, he picked up his clothes (his shirt turned out to be okay--well, okay enough, it didn't fall off him) and rambled down to the galley to see what kind of rations they had stored away. Chewie was bringing in supplies on his way back; Han had planned to be off-ship for the night. It was just his luck that all they had were Imperial infantry packs, which were even worse than he remembered. There'd been a time when he'd been happy enough with three meals a day no matter where it came from, though. If nothing else, choking down one or two of the kriffing things was a good reminder of how far he'd come from the street rat starving in the alleyways. There was also a stash of Corellian whiskey that he was sorely tempted to get into, but he was the only one on the ship and he wasn't going to risk the Falcon if something weird happened and she had to get off dirtside fast.

Han took a ration pack and its (pretty disgusting) protein drink up to the cockpit and finally let himself think about Lando's offer. He'd phrased it about as diplomatically as Han could imagine--no mention of how far into his own head Han had gone--but the fact remained that if Han wanted to see what might happen if they set off his brain and then didn't back off, Lando would be happy to go there with him. Han couldn't make himself think any farther down that path, but at least he wasn't pretending the offer hadn't been made. That was probably enough for now, he thought.

Instead, Han sat in his ship--his ship, his beautiful, beautiful ship--and ate his fill of dinner and waited for Chewie to get home.