It's a beautiful fucking day outside and Luke is having none of it.

He spilled his macchiato all over his brand new, high-waisted skirt — it's the dusty pink one that Leia insisted would be worth the 120 dollars. Luke needed to rush and change into a completely different outfit, throwing on a knitted, baby blue top hanging in the closet and a pair of jean shorts, fastening on black sandals.

It made him late for class, which his professor ignored but she handed back his last trig exam. A big, fat D glared back at him for the whole stinkin' hour. Luke's mood went further downhill from there.

On the bus, some old lady in a shawl talked loudly about "how refreshing" it was that shops were allowed to refuse service to "the Homosexuals™" while clearly eyeballing him. Luke's cheeks went bright pink, whether in embarrassed anger or what-have-you, but he kept his mouth shut, his head bowed to his cellphone.

Leia recently caught a nasty case of bronchitis, and Luke honestly is not looking forward to her being cranky. He's not looking forward to doing the massive pile of dishes in their shared apartment kitchen either.

Earlier in the day, before leaving classes, Biggs tried to cheer him up with a bouquet of fresh flowers — a collection of mums in yellows and reds. He appreciated it, but Luke's not feeling the usual, boldly romantic gestures from his oldest friend.

As great as they are, as much as Luke wants to feel it back… he can't.

The park is crowded and noisy by mid-afternoon, full of little kids and parents. Luke narrowly avoids being clipped by bicyclists, but somehow in the process, he loses his grip on the too heavy bouquet.

He watches it crunch unpleasantly under the huge, fast-moving bike tires. Luke feels like he's about to scream himself hoarse, when a familiar, warm hand grips at his elbow.

"You alright, kid?" Han asks, eyebrows pulled together, closing in on Luke's right side. "Jeez, you gotta watch where you're going 'round these parts…"

"Fine, m'fine," Luke mutters, tugging himself out of Han's reach. An overly sarcastic smile. "I'm awesome."

Han looks him over with a little less worry, chuckling. "Sorry I asked then," he replies, following after Luke and tucking his hands in his jacket pockets as the other man begins walking, this time through another, less busy section of park sidewalk. "Hey, so, your sister hasn't called me back—"

"No, don't—" Luke interrupts, grimacing and turning to face Han. He doesn't wanna hear it. It's bad enough that he can't rid of the tiny, shrieking, jealous impulse when he knows Han and Leia have been together.

Luke knows they've been sleeping together, off and on, and it's not a relationship, but — fuck. He's carrying that torch for Han since they were in middle school. He's twenty-two years old, and needs to get over this.

"For the last time, I'm her twin — not her secretary," he snaps. "If Leia doesn't wanna talk to you, that's her business. She's been sick the last week, so why don't you check up on her for once? Be a decent fuck buddy."

Han's eyes widen, but his frowning expression seems to darken.

"… What crawled up your ass and died, Skywalker?"

Luke sneers a little, turning right around, his nostrils flaring. "I don't know, Solo — maybe it's your ego," he says. Han's not following him anymore, but Luke barely makes it a couple feet away.

"Or maybe it's your own head!" Han yells back.

That's it.

Luke knew exactly what he wanted to say, but his brain processes two thoughts into a jumble. His mouth hangs opens,. Luke marches up to Han's face, straightening up and growling, "Fuck me!"



All of the sudden, the cold fury drains out of him, replacing with a hollowing sense of shock. Luke gapes, blanching. He meant to yell either "fuck you" or "fight me" to Han. Luke swears he meant anything but…

"I… I, no…"

The slow, amused grin on Han's mouth makes him flush. He's not even mad. "What was that, kid?" he asks, taking a good step forward in their space and eyeing Luke's reddening features.

"Uh — you know," Luke stammers out, gesturing wildly. "I was … wasn't, uh, I meant—"

Han nods, as if in understanding, but mockingly.

"So was that an offer or a challenge? I couldn't tell," he says, grinning bigger. For someone usually an awkward, bumbling flirt, Han's doing a good job of making Luke feel eight kinds of hot.

"It's not — you, uh," Luke's voice hitches, and he tries harder and gestures more wildly, avoiding Han's gaze. "No! No, yooou didn't hear me right! You didn't hear me right at all," he protests, gulping in a breath when Han touches his shoulder. Luke finally meets the other man's eyes and internally groans.




It's really a beautiful day all along, and Luke didn't even know it.

His entire back feels taut and achy-bruised, not to mention Luke's skull. Han's fingernails, blunt and dirtied, ended up raking thin, raised, red scratches over Luke's outer thighs and his ass. His lips swollen and puffy from aggressive, deepening kisses, from Han nipping them before their tongues messily slid together.

For once, Luke forgot about everything else — focusing instead on the roughened, jerking thrusts underneath him, dragging inside him, Han's arms carrying all of Luke's weight while they're pinned against the wall.

Sex aside, there's still a question burning bright in Luke's mind.

"You love Leia?" he murmurs, still nude and sitting on the edge of Han's bed. Han stops from pulling on a pair of maroon boxers, cocking his head. "It… this doesn't work if that's what is going on," Luke adds, frowning harshly. "She's my family, Han, and I'm not playing games."

"No," Han says, with such a flat, dulled voice. "Not Leia."

The burst of relief doesn't come, and Luke's gut tightens with heat.

"Do you…?" he trails off, getting more agitated and doesn't kiss him back when Han leans over, palms falling to the mattress. Their breathes mingling and noses pressing together. Han tastes faintly like menthol and honey lemon. Luke's seen the bag of cough drops, but not Han's cigarettes — wherever they're hiding.

"Yeah, kid." Han whispers, peeking through eyelashes and shaking his head, "Yeah, you. Definitely you."

Luke's mouth goes dry, heart pounding.

"You… weren't going to say anything to me?" he says, unable to help the accusation. "For what? Years?"

Han rolls his eyes.

"You haven't been doing the same thing?" Luke doesn't have a counter for that, and his skin goes rosy, warmed. "I don't think either of us could have helped that, Luke. Sorry."

There's no sorry on a day like this, when Luke stretches out his hands. He grabs onto Han's face and collides their lips, hearing a muffled, pleasant noise, and drowns it out with his own throaty one.



SW isn't mine. On my AO3, I link the Tumblr post I was inspired by. It's been a shitty week, but have some Skysolo/Hanluke! Hope you enjoy it! :)