Chapter Text
Han spends a lot of the party - (because dying rich dudes apparently have parties to send themselves off, or something) - drinking. It’s not exactly the best idea, considering the company they’re keeping, but Han Solo’s never great at good ideas. Usually he just stumbles into situations and stumbles about until he finds a good outcome.
He’ll never admit that to anyone though.
Lando is charming, effusive and far too nice, without even a hint of wickedness underneath. It’s blatantly false, but Han knows the guy far better than his extended family probably does, so it’s likely working a charm on all of them.
He spins lies like honey on the tip of his tongue, introducing Han as his suitor, his love, anything else that fits the narrative. Of course, there are some that balk at the partnership of two human men, but that’s always been a thing in Han’s life, so he doesn’t comment on it. He’s basically there as a pretty placeholder under Lando’s arm and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.
It might just be the Corellian whiskey talking, but he’s actually kinda into it.
Everything’s been a little… slow… since Qi’ra, but that’s not saying he hasn’t considered it. Lando’s an attractive man who flirts with everything in the universe. There is no chance that he’d ever say no.
But he doesn’t go for it. Why ruin this… partnership, or whatever it is, with added feelings? He’s happy to have Lando as a confidant, and it doesn’t need to cross into anything more.
It’s late evening when the party begins to die down. The planet they’re on has two suns, and one of them doesn’t set until very late in the evening, so they’re ushered off to bed by a glowing red light over the horizon.
It’s almost romantic, if that’s something you go for.
Han lets himself be pulled towards bed, one of his arms flung over Lando’s shoulders. He’s too content to fully move, too caught up in the fug of warmth and whiskey to make an effort. It’s good not to be running for once.
“You had a good night, Solo?” Lando asks, as the turbolift whizzes upwards.
“Can’t complain.” Saying anything more seems arbitrary.
“Good.” Lando seems pleased by his words. “Not so bad, eh? Pretending to be my partner.”
“Well, I received far less open harassment than I usually do in these situations, so it was a win-win in my eyes.”
“You get harassed? For being with men?”
“Yeah, of course.” Han fixes him with an incredulous look, “You know, despite all of the alien worlds out there, and all the possibilities within, most of ‘em still seem stuck on the concept of human gender. It’s ridiculous.”
“I’ve not run into anything like that, personally.”
“You own a literal planet, Lando, do you really think that people would care where your proclivities lie?”
“Cloud City isn’t a planet… ” Lando trails off at Han’s glare. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’m in a different position to you.”
“You sure are.” Han doesn’t even let the thought of ‘positions’ drift into his mind. Nope. Not at all. He just lets Lando pull him through a door marked with strange alien symbols. He presumes they’re numbers, though really, they could be anything.
The room inside is spacious, and there’s only one bed. Han, who at this point is too drunk and utterly delightfully fuzzy inside, flops onto it with his boots on.
It’s damn comfortable too. For someone who regularly spends nights sleeping in the pilot’s chair in the Falcon, it’s a very welcome change.
“You’re really not uncomfortable about this, are you?” Lando asks, from somewhere nearby. It sounds like he’s taking off his boots.
Han’s got his eyes shut, because really, he’s too drunk for this shit and the lights overhead are far too bright. “I’ve spent multiple nights sleeping next to a Wookie. You’re less hairy.”
“Why, thanks.”
“You seen Chewie lately?” There’s some impulse, something important in the back of his mind that says that he probably shouldn’t be separated from his friend on an alien planet. However, he ignores it, too content to soak in the warmth of the bed coverings and the fuzz in his head.
“I think he took off with two of my aunts. Their ship needed fixing and he wanted to give us some privacy.” The bed shakes, and it’s pretty clear that Lando’s settled down next to him.
Han cracks open an eye, eyes Lando and asks, “You hitting on me, Calrissian?”
“You’ve been eying me up for three years and you’re asking me if I’m hitting on you?”
“Point taken.” He stretches, lazily, and kicks his boots off, wondering if he’s always been so transparent. He’s not the greatest liar, but damn, was he always that obvious? “What are we going to do about this then?”
“Do you want to have sex with me, Han?” Lando over-pronounces his name, draws it out in a way that’s very, very annoying, but there’s a hint of a plea in there, all the same. Neither of them really want to spend tonight alone.
There are many instances in Han Solo’s life where he should say ‘no’ to things. Running drugs for the Hutts is one of them. Being propositioned by a charming crime lord with a shady history is another.
But he doesn’t.
“Yeah, why the fuck not?”
It’s not like it’s an obligation.
-
At first it’s awkward, like it always is with a new partner. Life’s not actually like those stupid romantic holovids from Coruscant that Chewie swears he doesn’t like watching. Their teeth click together, the angle’s a little too wrong, and Lando’s dumb beard scrapes up the edge of his cheeks almost immediately.
But then the kiss shifts into something deeper, hotter, more violent - and shit, Lando must be still pissed about losing the Falcon because he kisses like he’s trying to eat Han alive.
Han tastes blood in his mouth and he doesn’t know whose it is, and actually, that’s pretty fucking hot. Bloodborne diseases be damned, he’s really into this.
Lando pulls back and gasps, mouth wet, “That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you, Solo,” and for once it doesn’t even sound like he’s mocking him. “Why were we not doing this three years ago?”
“Because you were losing to me at sabacc instead.” Han retorts, blood on fire, and pulls Lando back down before he even gets a chance to reply.
Yeah, he’s got a really good feeling about this.