.

.

Luke doesn't know how this all became a disaster so quickly.

He's more than glad to help out Leia for an amateur film class documentary, even if it means being around her snappish, permanently frowning girlfriend, and Han Solo. Luke has known the older man for three years, and each passing year, it feels like spiraling downwards into a helpless state of longing.

If he knew a damn thing about Han, it's that Han lives to torment other people.

Or maybe just Luke, and inside Luke's head, because Han is caring and romantic underneath his bad-boy, leather jacket facade.

(And that's all it is: A facade. He's seen firsthand as Han blunders for words with Leia, or awkwardly shuffling around when quietly sulking and angry. Han and Leia broke it off. It feels like a burst of fresh air to not have to see Han's naked shoulder-blades in the morning at the apartment, or his sleepy, sweet grin.)

It's a camping trip, as far as Luke can tell — and it's been the worst twelve hours of his life.

They almost stumbled into poison ivy and a fallen wasp nest; Evaan twisted her ankle an hour ago and has been in a foul mood ever since, and nobody would fight a 6'1 and semi-muscular girl who kickboxes; Luke has no idea what his compass is doing, but he's sure they're no longer going north; Leia and Han freaked out about crossing paths with a skunk, running for it and abandoning the others on instinct; their supplies are running low and Leia barely got her footage, leaving her in about as foul of a mood as Evaan.

And to make things even better, Luke fell into a cold creek earlier. He hasn't stopped trembling and coughing, his red, knitted beanie now sopping wet and abandoned.

To everyone's surprise, Han was the immediate person to fish Luke out, checking him over once they were free of the burbling water. The documentation equipment thankfully survives this ordeal, strapped to Evaan and Leia's backs — Luke's ego, however, not so much.

Once they've made it to a clearing, Luke sits down and begins wringing out his polyester fleece zip-up. His tee-shirt is soaked as well, the bright red fabric clinging to him underneath his zip-up. Leia's rummaging through one of their bags while Evaan rolls down a woolen sock and massages her swollen up ankle.

Han wanders around the rest of them, keeping an eye out on their surroundings, flicking out his pocket knife.

He's worn, faded blue jeans and a brown belt with a wide belt, hiking boots, and a generous view of his thick, dark chest hair from the open collar of his blue/white/golden plaid button-up underneath his usual leather jacket. And Luke is definitely not gathering up the concentration to stare at him. Nope.

"Leia, tell your girlfriend we ain't fumigating for rats," Han barks, shielding his eyes and mouth.

Evaan hums along to the song on her iPod, bugspraying her canister in every direction. The mosquitoes aren't the only ones feeling sick.

"I'm not your messenger pigeon."

"And I can hear you, jackass," Evaan says in a deadpan, her orange ear-buds still lodged in deep. Han's face scowls, but his color goes flushed with embarrassment and irritation. "Asking nicely is still a thing people do, right?"

Luke watches Leia in growing curiosity. Her brown hair neatly plaited and not a strand out of place, unlike Evaan's plait loosened with golden-gleaming locks tangling free. Leia was always perfect, he thinks. "What are you doing?" Luke asks.

"Clearing up the area." Leia stoops over and picks up twigs, not looking at him. "We're sleeping here."

He blinks owlishly.

"We're… what?"

"There's not exactly a hotel anywhere in the middle of the forest," she says loudly, glancing pointedly at Han. "And with you two chuckleheads getting us into more and more trouble, we're gonna have to make due."

The older man makes an offended noise, eyebrows scrunching together. "Hey, I said to ask for directions!"

"After we got lost, Mister Navigator," Evaan supplies, her raspy, tired voice lacing with sarcasm.

"We're LOST?"

Leia gestures fiercely to a panicked-looking Luke who glances between everyone from his spot on the dirt patch. "Nice going, really nice," she announces, teeth clenching up. "This is why I wasn't saying anything."

"You know you can't keep babying him, Leia," Evaan argues, nose wrinkling. "Jesus christ, he's your twin."

"Technically I'm twenty-six seconds older—"

"—shut up," Leia and Han declare in monotonous unison, and Luke's mouth clamps shut. He realizes with mounting humiliation that they've heard it enough times from him to memorize what he's about to say.

For the next forty or minutes, Leia moves away the debris as Evaan eventually unrolls a sleeping bag. Han helps build a low campfire with the kindling and matches. "If I knew we were gonna get lost, I would've brought my sleeping bag," Luke mutters, knowing fully well they can all hear him.

"If I knew I'd be lost with all you chuckleheads, I would have stayed home," Han quips, smirking over at Leia's semi-amused glare.

Evaan cracks up, her laughter bright and throaty.

"Finally something we agree on."

.

.

By the time they pass out the energy bars and remaining bottles of water, the sun's going down.

Leia and Evaan crawl to their own double-sized sleeping bag, curling in together and whispering softly to each other. Everyone turns off their cellphones as dusk falls, saving their battery life for quick trips to the bathroom and hopefully nonexistent emergencies.

There's only one more sleeping bag left, and it's Han's sleeping bag. He shoves his feet inside as Luke hunches down near the dying embers of the fire, gripping his own arms and shivering. "You plan on freezing your butt off or what?" Han calls over to him.

Luke shakes his head.

"Too late," he says under his breath, not raising his eyes.

Nobody else in their group was raised in the desert of all places, so Luke knows they don't understand his sincere complaining about temperature drops or his lack of internal heat, or his pure hatred of the cold.

Han looks him over with concern, beginning to frown.

"You can have the sleeping bag, kid," he insists. "It's not a big deal."

"I'm okay," Luke says dully, wrapping his arms to his knees and pressing his face down.

An aggravated growling noise.

"Seriously, I'm not gonna listen to you chattering your teeth all night…"

"M'fine," Luke repeats, shifting his face out of the bundle of his arms to give Han a quick smile. "Seriously." It's a complete and utter lie, and he thinks that Han knows it — but it goes unspoken, and Han leaves him be.

.

.

This is how he's gonna die.

Freezing, lying on the ground on Han's leather jacket and his own arm pillowing his head. Freezing.

Luke's sure by now that he's crusted with ice crystals in the darkness creeping over him, when there's a hand jerking his shoulder. It startles him upright and not quite conscious. He's really drowsy.

"Get up," Han breathes, tugging Luke's shirt once again.

"The fu—?"

It's not enough sunlight to see the frost blooming from Luke's mouth. He weakly fights Han's grasp as the other man pulls them onto their feet.

"Get the hell up and into the sleeping bag," Han says a little less harshly. "I'm not telling you twice, Luke. There's more than enough room for two people. Let's go."

Whether or not it's the use of Luke's name instead of Han's go-to of 'kid', he obeys, kneeling and slipping into the musty-smelling, padded bag. Han zips it open further to accommodate his own body, dragging along his jacket for a makeshift blanket. Luke decided to leave it behind in his begrudging, dazed state.

He's got Han's entire back pressing right up against him, and as blissfully warm it is, Luke's pulse quickens.

"Quit jostling me," Han mumbles, as the other man squirms in place and groans a little.

"Shhh…" Luke hisses out, with not enough malice. He half-expects to hear the other pair to giggle and shout out teasing remarks, but they're seemingly fast asleep.

Lucky them.

Damn it all, he's still trembling and shivering from the weather, from having been in the creek water. The bitter cold air rushes around Luke's face and ears. He squeezes his jaws together to keep from shouting. Not surprisingly, Han's noticed him and there's a hand on Luke again, this time much more gentle.

"You okay if… …?"

Luke ventures a guess to what he means and nods, telling him 'it's okay' as Han turns over with a deep breath, cushioning against Luke's back with his front. Huddling for warmth is not as unappealing as he expects, and spooning with the man Luke's been pining over has additional benefits to it.

(If only he could make his body stop shaking, his own heart to calm down when one of Han's hands touches and rubs against Luke's bicep, as if reassuring, as if willing the blood to return.)

He drags his teeth over his quivering bottom lip, squirming a moment as those heated fingers drag over his hip, brushing over Luke's side. When he can feel Han retreating, Luke grabs his wrist, lowering Han's fingers back to his hip, guiding it around to Luke's thigh. Neither of them has said a thing.

Luke's about to face him and apologize when it's Han's fingers squeezing down on his cock through his jeans, and he releases a small, thin gasp. Luke's hand flutters back onto Han's, tightening down, grinding.

"Fucking—yes," Han grunts out against Luke's neck, letting the other man fumble to unbutton his own jeans. He slides his left hand underneath Luke's jeans and boxers, smoothing over bare skin and crinkles of pubic hair before grasping loosely around Luke's dick. Han pumps him, making Luke jam a hand against his mouth. The continuously slick noises muffled under the sleeping bag. "You're amazing, kid."

The passing thought of shushing Han comes to an abrupt halt as two, hot-white flashlights bob in their faces, and the sounds of boots crunching over dirt and twigs close in. A man stands over them, frowning in bemusement. The other sleeping bag across the clearing rustles as Leia and Evaan glance up.

"Whoa, say — what kind of wild midnight party is this?" the man asks, chuckling. Han gets up while Luke hides his reddening, grimacing face to the inner-part of the dark blue sleeping bag.

"Who the fucktruck are you?" Evaan speaks up, her voice raspier, thicker than normal.

"Lando Calrissian, miss." The brown-skinned man lovingly clasps an arm over another much shorter man, who waves shyly at everyone. His pale, round face slightly rosy. "This is my partner, Lobot."

"How did you end up way out in these parts?" Han says, wiping his hand absently on the back of his leg.

"Way out where?" Lando raises an eyebrow, smiling big and handsomely. "There's the main highway out three miles from here — back the way we came. Isn't that where you folks were heading?"

Leia explains with a sigh, "We were lost to be honest." Luke glances up towards her and his eyes widen, as Leia gazes back to him. She hastily straightens her lopsided top and unclipped bra, cheeks turning pink.

"We'd be happy to get you to a land-line," Lando offers, waiting patiently as they scurry and pack their things. Luke buttons his jeans and tries not to look at anything but his hands and the rolled up sleeping bag.

He stiffens up, and then relaxes as Han touches his elbow, lowering his lips momentarily to Luke's ear.

"Pick up where we left off later?"

As soon as it happens, Han's gone, looking over his shoulder for an answer.

Luke chuckles aloud and shrugs, nestling Han's sleeping bag under an armpit. "Fuck me on a bed, not in the woods," Luke whispers back, staring Han in the eye with determination as he weaves around the fire's ashes.

With any promise, Luke prays to get overheated tonight.

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SW isn't mine. WELCOME TO THE SUMMER 2016 ROUND OF THE SKYSOLO EXCHANGE. Me and bartonandmurdock on Tumblr hosted the very first round, and I ended up being assigned to a good friend smugglerandfarmboy on Tumblr and I hope I filled out her prompt how she wanted it! ;; And hope you guys enjoyed this!