Fanfics from Ao3 - Private

Han x Luke

He doesn't have proper eye protection, so he squints as much as he can without losing his vision entirely and holds up the welding tool. There's only one switch on the silver handle, which he assumes in the on/off switch, so he presses it, and a flame flickers to life at the open end of the tool. Luke holds the flame to the valves he's been working on, sealing the metal together with white-hot heat. That should do it , he thinks, closing up the panel he'd opened. He tucks the welder into the crook of his elbow and yanks on the lever.

Fruitlessly, it turns out. It doesn't do more than groan and creak as he tries with all his might to pull it down, and he groans with it, a very undignified noise. The welding tool clatters to the floor and he gives a frustrated sigh. A pair of hands comes up behind him, reaching to help with the lever, but Luke shrugs Han away.
"Hey, Your Worship, I'm only trying to help," Han says, irritated but moving out of the way, letting Luke wrestle with the lever some more.
Still struggling, hearing the strain in his own voice, Luke says, "Would you stop calling me that?"

"Sure, Luke," comes the smooth answer, and that gives him pause. Is that the first time Han has called Luke by his given name?

There's a bright pink mark on Luke's palm where he had been fighting with the lever, so he switches to using his left hand. "Thank you."
"You're no fun," Han says, not unkindly, bending to pick up the tools Luke dropped on the ground. "You could fight back once in a while, get mad."

Luke eyes him, unable to keep from smiling, his teeth pricking his lip in an effort to contain himself. "You want someone to get mad at you? Go find Leia." He's joking, he hopes that's obvious.

"Come on, admit it." Han slips the tools into the pocket of his jacket. "Sometimes you think I'm alright."

"Occasionally. When you aren't acting like a scoundrel." Luke gives the lever another hard yank, and his hand slides across the sharp corner of it, gashing his palm open so that bright red blood seeps to the surface of his skin. "Ow!" He lifts the hand to his mouth, sucks at the open wound. He doesn't miss the way Han's eyes linger on his mouth. The cut is not as bad as he thought at second glance, torn skin all along but only bleeding a little bit.

"Here, let me see." Han gently takes Luke's wrist and pulls it into the beam of an overhead light. "Doesn't look too bad." He starts to probe at the wound with his fingers, gently skimming over the ragged edges. "A scoundrel, huh?"
Luke bites the inside of his bottom lip. "Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Stop that!" Luke reclaims his hand. "Your hands are dirty."

"Your hands are shaking," Han says, and Luke suddenly realized that he's right. His whole body is vibrating, and he doesn't think it's the starship cold that's doing it. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid," he scoffs. Han is moving in on his personal space, oh-so-slowly narrowing the gap.

"You like me because I'm a scoundrel," says Han softly. "There aren't enough scoundrels in your life."

"I happen to like nice men," Luke retorts, his breath coming in short bursts, his heart starting to race.

"I'm a nice man." Han's lips are a few inches away from Luke's now, and he hesitates, like he's waiting for a sign, and Luke is about to give it when--

"Sir, sir!" comes an excited shout, and a golden-plated protocol droid bursts into the little hallway. ""I've isolated the reverse power flux coupling."

Han straightens up so quickly that Luke can hear one of his vertebrae crack. "Thank you," he says icily, through gritted teeth. "Thank you very much."

"Oh, you're perfectly welcome, sir." Threepio spots Luke and gives a little jerk of surprise. "Prince Luke." He bows stiffly, and shuffles out.

Han hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "I better..." and as much as Luke's heart sinks, he nods in agreement.

Turning, Han makes it a few feet before Luke gathers his courage and calls, "Wait. Han, wait!" And Han turns around expectantly, his lips half-parted like he stopped when he was about to say something. "I... " In a few steps, he closes the distance between them, so that their bodies are almost touching. For once in the three years that he's known Han, the smuggler has been rendered utterly speechless. "Can I...?"

Almost imperceptibly, Han swallows and nods, and Luke rises up on his toes to press their mouths together.

No fireworks, like he thought there would be. No sudden rush of knowing that yes, this is it, this is where I'm meant to be as there had been in some of the trashy romance novels Luke had picked up on Alderaan when he was a teenager. More of a warmth, spreading through his whole body, setting his limbs and core alight with heat. Han's lips are warm--why is this man always so warm?

Han bites very gently at Luke's lower lip, and Luke inhales sharply. He's been kissed before, in the shadowy corners of the palace on Alderaan by his tutor's son, but those were clean, short affairs with no time for fancy things like teeth or tongues. Now, strong hands cup his face, and on a whim, Luke wraps his arms around the smuggler, pulling their bodies flush. Han releases a heavy breath, his lips parting, and Luke's with them.

Then an alarm starts to blare somewhere in the bowels of the ship, and they pull away from each other like a blaster just went off. They stare at each other, wide-eyed for a moment, before Luke reaches up and presses a quick kiss to the corner of Han's mouth. "Let's get off the asteroid."

Han nods, the look on his face promising more. Later. If they survive.