.

.

He's stranded on the countryside road, and Luke resorts to kicking his tire wrench. Even the bottom of his sneaker does little more than creating a painful impact, and Luke's big toe throbs now along with his pulse.

"Shit!"

The lug nuts won't twist on his front left tire, and Luke's already pulled out the spare.

His grey, beat-up wagon blinks with the hazard lights, dotted with rain. He's grateful the weather lightened up just as his car tire flattened, but there's been no one driving along this road since he's been on it.

The weight of his overly pregnant belly keeps Luke from bending over to push or pull the tire wrench further. Luke's phone remains very dead in the passenger seat — because he's an idiot and never quite prepared for an emergency. Luke heaves out a groaning sigh, wincing and leaning his back against his stalled car.

It's not like he has to be anywhere in a hurry, but Luke's kinda hungry and needs to pee. And the baby is getting antsy. It's not a terrible situation he's in, if Luke considers it further. The air smells light, and like the high, swaying grass from the fields.

An engine? He glances up as the faint roar of a motorcycle approaches.

Luke then smiles big and reassured as its driver comes to a halt, parking his massive vehicle alongside him. It's a middle-aged man without a helmet, dark hair and dark, soulful eyes. A dark, thick beard to match.

"Everything okay?"

"Not really," Luke admits, staring ruefully at his flattened tire. He cradles his stomach with both hands, moving aside as the driver examines his wagon, crouching down. "I, uh. I fudged up, I think."

Already using the jack to lift the car, the other man expertly removes the flat, piecing the spare tire on. Luke's impressed how quick he is about it. "Can see how this would be difficult for ya…" He nods to Luke's belly, but not unkindly.

Luke grins and looks down at himself, rubbing over his protruding navel. "Thank you, I'm Luke — by the way."

"Han."

"I really appreciate this," Luke says, eyebrows raised when Han double-checks his handiwork. "Honestly. I think I could have been in some serious trouble eventually."

The other man claps his denim knees, rising back onto his feet. His voice deep and gravelly. "Not a problem, kid," Han answers, flashing him a brief, curt smile and heading back to his motorcycle.

Luke wrinkles his nose at the nickname. He's not exactly a kid. He's twenty-seven and very, very pregnant.

"You from these parts?"

"I moved into a cottage up the nearby road." Luke points aimlessly. "Don't know anyone yet. Are you?"

"Just passing through," Han replies, gazing over Luke again with curiosity. And something else. Something with pleasantly heated emotion behind it, or maybe it's Luke's wishful thinking. Han is, to be honest, a muscular and six foot one of 'easy on the eyes' to him. "Saw you. Figured you might have needed a hand."

"Oh…"

"Is there anyone you need to call?"

"No," Luke murmurs. He can feel himself closing off slightly, expression dulling. "I live alone."

In a split second, Han goes from mysterious, cool stranger to a wide-eyed, nervous mess. "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I thought cause of the, the…" He gestures stiffly to Luke's round belly. "You were probably with… someone."

It's ridiculously adorable in a way. Luke stares at him a little dumbfounded, tilting his head.

"… Can I ask you something, Han?"

"Sure, yeah," Han responds, blinking multiple times. He attempts to casually lean on his motorcycle and lurches it in place, prompting him to go back upright and smooth out his clothes. "Yeah — shoot."

"Would you like to get some coffee?"

"You, uh — you drink coffee?" Han asks, obviously confused.

"Oh, absolutely not. Not since the baby." Luke's smile turns sunny bright, and just a smidgen of playful. "I know you already did me a solid, but I'm trying to ask you out so… could you help me a little bit here?" When Han doesn't answer him, he adds, Luke's smile never wavering, "Unless it's a terrible idea…"

"I like coffee." Han agrees quickly, scratching under his jaw. "I like lots of things."

"Me too," Luke says, humoring him and outright ignoring the other man's embarrassment.

.

.

The closest place is an outdoor restaurant with paint-chipped, metal chairs. Luke orders a turkey wheat-toast and apple juice, and Han gets his tall cup of coffee — plain with no sugar or milk. Black as sin.

Turns out, Han is from nowhere near here. Luke shares that he's a painter, professionally and as a hobby. He grew up on his aunt and uncle's farm and skipped out on the family business to attend a university — which his uncle did not take kindly, especially after learning that Luke wanted to study art.

Luke purposely avoids the subject of the baby's other parent, which Han thankfully doesn't bring up. He doesn't need to think about Wedge. Or how Wedge took his coffee — almost exactly as Han took his.

"How long you got until she's born?"

"Two months," Luke says after a long, thoughtful moment, relaxing in his chair. A warm, ticklish sensation flutters inside Luke's chest, helping him answer. "I'm gonna name her Rey."

Han smirks over his cup, taking a sip of now cooling liquid. "It's pretty."

When their waiter appears to pass off the check, both men argue for who is paying. Han's already got one hand digging for his wallet when Luke fiercely grabs onto his other hand clutching onto the leather check-holder. Luke's fingers then jerk away, as if Han's bare skin stung him. Han asks lowly if he's alright.

"Ben."

Han feels his mouth go immediately slack. "What… did you say?" he asks.

"Your son. He's from your first marriage." Luke sounds wooden, but eerily calm. Like he's having difficulty from waking out a deep slumber. "The only one…"

"How the hell would you know that?"

"Please… don't freak out. I know you are," Luke insists, grimacing under Han's suspicion. He sighs. "When I touch someone, or something like an object someone loved… I can read things off them. Surface things."

"You're psychic?"

Han's incredulity gives Luke's insides a pinch of resentment. "I don't know — I don't. I've been able to do this since I was a teenager. No one has ever been able to explain it and thought I was just really good at guessing."

"What else did you "read" off me?" Han makes air quotes with his fingers. He seems doubtful, not angry.

Luke's mouth tightens.

"Just the name," he explains softly. "He's in your thoughts a lot. I know the name of his mother, and that you were married to her. I didn't mean to invade that part of you. I'm… I can't turn it off."

"S'alright," Han tells him, eyes narrowing. "She has full custody of him. It's probably better that way."

"But he's your son."

"Well, you don't know me and I ain't father material," Han mutters to the table, face hardening.

Luke's laugh is bitter, sharp.

"Whatever, I've heard that line before…"

Han scoots abruptly out of his chair, the metal legs screeching loudly to the concrete. "Thanks for the lunch, kid," he says, flatly. Before Han storms off, Luke calls his name, stopping him. He scribbles something with a pen from the check-holder and one of the napkins. Luke balls the napkin up and chucks it to Han.

"Keep it, okay?" he asks, no longer frowning but semi-pleading.

Han doesn't stare at the napkin until he's seated comfortably on his Harley Davidson.

An address and a phone number.

He can't stay here.

(But there's not a place worth hurrying to.)

.

.

Luke's place looks like something out of a fairytale. A giant stone path surrounded by the green, sprawling lawn, all of the low-hanging trees, and bushels of dark crimson roses outside the first-story windows.

Han roars up the driveway on his ride, but is not greeted by anyone. Not that he's expecting one.

The door is unlocked. Han walks into the foyer, observing the little, pale blue walls.

When it sounds like a shattering noise comes from the room down the hallway, he races towards it, panting. There's glass everywhere on the kitchen floor and Luke once again awkwardly trying to stoop down. Han grasps his shoulder, helping him get back up.

"Jesus christ, you okay?" he asks, now touching both of Luke's shoulders.

The other man nods and smiles, explaining where the broom and dustpan are.

"I'm pretty useless like this," Luke says, letting out an exasperated sigh and rubs at his straining lower back. He allows Han to clean up the broken glass, keeping out of the way until it's finished and thanking him.

"How are you gonna live on your own?"

"I'll manage," Luke replies, chuckling. He mimics running his forefinger over his jaw. "You shaved."

Han dumps the glass into the trash-bin, glancing over. It's true, even if there's still a bit of the dark stubble over his upper lip. "Uh, yeah… thought it would be a change or somethin'."

A change? Han mentally slaps himself for the bumbling phrase. No, really, Solo.

"It looks nice, Han. Really." Luke steps closer, looking him in the eye, frowning. "Listen, about earlier this week—"

Han shakes a hand, lips tugging upwards.

"Don't worry about it, kid."

Even he doesn't know where the nickname sprouted from. Luke's an adult, but there's something fresh-faced and contagious about him.

Han thinks it may be Luke's smile, a little wide and toothy. Happy.

Right now, he stands in front of Han, wearing this summer dress with a white, frilled collar. The draping, apricot material bringing a pink flush against Luke's sun-tanned face. Luke's feet are bare, and he's bathed in the morning light, and Han wants to kiss him something fierce.

He does, or Luke does—Han's not sure who started it.

Only that he has lips against his, opening slow and Luke breathing out a quiet, cramped moan.

His arms hook to Han's waist, and Han's fingers drift to Luke's hips, as if they're in orbit of each other. As if Luke's pull of gravity is so strong and so sure, and Han doesn't want to break away. "Luke—" he mutters into the kiss, and just like that, it's over. Luke pulls away from him, his blue eyes growing stunned.

"I shouldn't have—"

Han shuts him up by cradling Luke's face and kissing the tip of his freckled nose. The pregnant man relaxes, as they both eventually go silent. Luke inclines into Han's chest and buries his face against his tee-shirt.

"Mind if I stay a couple nights?" Han presses his mouth into Luke's hair, starting to grin when Luke trembles with laughter. "Can help you unpack…?" There's so many scattered totes and Luke's canvases without a home. No plugged in lamps or blankets unrolled. Not even silverware in the drawers as Han discovers later.

Luke's arms tighten around him — gravity winning out.

.

.

By four weeks, Han knows he's never leaving.

(He's considered it more times than he cares to admit to Luke or anyone. But, Luke's inside his entire world now, inside Han's senses and he doesn't want that to ever go away.)

By seven and a half weeks, Luke wakes him in the dead of night, groaning about contractions. It's a thirty-six minute ride to the hospital by Luke's car, and it's the most amount of time Han's panicked about anything in his life. Living up to her namesake, Rey is born at dawn, squalling high-pitched and wiggling in Luke's hands.

Han didn't know where his life was going after his divorce, but he's got family now.

That's enough for him — which makes seeing Ben again a miracle. His ex-wife hears through a mutual friend about Han taking roots in the countryside, about his new partner. She agrees to visit if that's what Han would want.

Ben is barely seven, but he's no longer an infant. He's a boy —skinny, grass-stained limbs and dark brown curls. Han clutches his son into a eager hug, falling into his bottom in the front yard, and just cries. Ben pats his father's neck, a little confused but hugging him tighter.

Everything's gone right somehow.

Luke smiles and watches from the porch, eyes gleaming, absently rocking his fussy, yawning toddler. Rey fists the sky blue material of Luke's loose-fitting vee with her tiny hands, dropping her head to Luke's shoulder.

.

.


SW is not mine. So it's Rey Skywalker Week on Tumblr, and yesterday was "Skymom" day, but I had no real interest in that so I've changed it into "Skyparent" day with Skysolo and Luke who is transitioning and pregnant and identifies as a male. Hence why the "mpreg" mention in summary. You can call this either just pregnancy or mpreg, whichever. This is dedicated to my people who love Luke in this headcanon and to drunkluke on Tumblr. I hope everyone enjoys reading this! It's fluffy goodness this time around. :) This also covers my bingo space "questioning" for Hanluke card! Any comments or thoughts is deeply appreciated!