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Luke wakes up feeling dazed.
He’s not quite sure where he’s at just yet – he’s determined thus far that it’s some sort of bedroom, belong to whom he still can’t answer – but it’s growing on him that it’s where someone lives. There’s clothing strewn across the room, on the backs of chairs and tabletops, a set of boots left abandoned at the door. On the walls are several posters, archaic movies and books Luke’s never heard of. They’re encased in smooth wooden frames, cared for enough to be treated in this way instead of crudely tacked into the plaster.
He blinks a few times to clear the sleep from his eyes and is welcomed with a dull ache radiating from the middle of his skull. It’s not unlike anything he’s ever felt before in that it only rears its ugly head when he exposes his eyes to the sunlight creeping in from an adjacent window. At least the weather’s nice outside, he thinks, compared to what it was last night. The sting of rain feels like it’s almost attacking his face the way it was when he and Han –
Luke stops his thoughts right there. In a dizzying rush the events of the previous night come flooding back all at once and he knows why he’s here now. The great, big warm thing he’s been clinging to for most of the night is Han himself with one arm slung over his face and chest decompressing slightly with each easy breath. He’s not so bad to hold onto, Luke thinks with an experimental squeeze of Han’s bicep.
The skin beneath his hand is tan, hot to the touch from both Luke’s body heat and the comfort sleep brings. Han’s breaths strike the top of Luke’s hair rhythmically, blowing the strands with each gentle exhale. Luke continues his voyage down with his eyes, looking the both of them up and down to fill in the gaps his story has. It’s obvious right away that they both are without clothes and for good reason – Luke looks down, down, and the two of them are both stained with come from the waist down. He gives a grimace at the stick of it against his belly and forges on.
His eyes go to Han’s cock as is his reflex and he’s surprised to see Han’s half-hard even in sleep. Part of him wants to wake Han up, finish what they started the night before (Luke’s never been in a more awkward position in his life, first on hands and knees then straddling Han’s lap for dear life, bouncing ridiculously on Han’s cock and forgetting to breathe for a good ten minutes while Han fucked him a bit more expertly than someone like him ought to have the ability to).
Leaning back as much as Han’s arms around him will let him, Luke tries to will himself back to sleep. It fails, as do many of his well-intended plans, and soon he finds himself lying there with his eyes closed thinking of nothing in particular. Soon Han starts to stir next to him and his arms tighten around the man he’s holding onto. He makes a sleepy noise that in no way should go to Luke’s heart like it does and yawns hard enough to crack his jaw.
He looks at Luke, still squinting a little with eyes still fogged over with exhaustion. It’s not enough to distract him fully from his mission of pressing his lips to Luke’s forehead. A sigh partners up with the light kiss and Han pulls back to rest his cheek against the top of Luke’s head.
“I’m still tired,” Han almost gripes when he does get around to talking. Luke certainly can tell he is by the way each word sounds like it’s a struggle to get out. A quick glance at a clock just over Han’s shoulder signals the arrival of daybreak, and they’ve really got enough leeway in their schedule to forego an early bird start and get in a few more hours of sleep.
However Han’s stomach gives a growl that warns against any further time spent lounging in the bed. They really hadn’t had much time to eat a proper dinner the night before – Luke was having to tell Han, still a little drunk himself, that whiskey was not a proper substitute for the dinner the senators were offering him – so yesterday’s lunch has all but gone from his body.
Luke devises a plan to give into the long-standing cliché of breakfast in bed, so with one final kiss to Han’s cheek that he all but leans into, he proposes, “How about you doze, take a second for yourself, and I’ll get breakfast started. There’s bound to be something in there that’ll feed the two of us.”
Han’s eyes form slits when he snickers. That’s a telltale sign of someone who hasn’t grocery shopped in weeks. He confirms this, mumbles something about a breakfast casserole made of old wheat cereal and leftover pasta to not sound half-bad, and Luke scoffs. Surely Han’s joking, he hopes.
He is not joking. From what the emptiness of the icebox in the kitchen tells Luke, Han is the comedian of the century. Then Luke finds his clothes on the floor of Han’s bedroom and tugs them on, still grimacing at how sweaty he feels even though the warmth of his jacket is comforting, and steps out of the little home Han’s rented for a while to head to a market he spotted earlier.
There Luke gathers the provisions he thinks they’ll need for a pretty decent breakfast in house, a pack of sausage made from an indigenous animal Luke’s had before that was pretty appetizing given the circumstances, bread from the bakery section that hit him in the face with its smell the minute he entered the place, and a jug of juice with fruit cut up and placed neatly at the bottom of the bottle.
Heading back he revels in the feel of the sunshine against his face, headache fading away with each step he takes away from the market and into the heart of the city. The people mulling around this early on a weekend morning look at him as he passes by, some of them murmuring to whomever may be standing close nearby at just how confidently a human is walking through their marketplace. Luke’s always felt that way, knowing that there’s no reason to give them something else to talk about with walking with a slump. He’s back at Han’s place in no time, opening the door to a main room that’s still quiet with no signs of life.
In the bedroom Han’s sprawled diagonally across the entirety of the bed, bear naked with no sign of gathering a sheet over himself in posterity. He snores into the puffs of the comforter deeply and lets his arms flop over his head, hands dangling down over the side of the bed.
Luke spots Han’s foot hanging down from a corner of the mattress and, crouching down a little as if Han’s giving any regard to what’s behind him, tickles the sole of his foot. Han is awake in an instant, jolting a little, and his yelp overcomes Luke’s laugh. He glares at Luke with absolutely no intent of returning the gesture and hops out of bed.
“Did you bring me food,” he breathes out almost excitedly, hunger doing its job in waking him up fully, gathering Luke close to him again. Luke nods and lets Han kiss him, once, twice, until there’s a risk he could collapse with how dizzy he starts to feel. Their hands find each other as they walk into the kitchen to get cracking on breakfast.
Luke was taught by the late and the great how to whip together a sufficient breakfast for a small crowd – Aunt Beru had him alongside her stirring together eggs and soup and stews when he was high enough to reach the dials on the stove, sometimes sitting on her hip so he could really get the feel of how to cook – so getting together the ingredients to some resemblance of a menu is a no-brainer.
He fries the meat up quick in a pan, laying it out on a clean towel to wick the moisture and grease from it, and uses the sweet bread as the side dish. Han’s sipping on the juice Luke bought while sitting at the table. Every once in a while he’ll look over at Luke standing attentively at the stove, watches his arms move to let his hands do all the work in cooking them breakfast, and a smile lightens his features.
Han’s not going to go as far as to say he’s in love – at this point in the day and being this hungry, he’d fall in love with anyone who’d go so far as to make him breakfast following a night like the one they had together – but Luke, the idea of Luke, is rather enticing.
Luke looks over his shoulder and catches him gawking, pokes a spatula in his direction almost accusatory. “What are you looking at, huh?” Han just keeps on with a sunny smirk, doesn’t let Luke in for a second on what he’s thinking. That is something he’ll keep for himself for now, but he does stand up and walk over to where Luke is.
Hand finding the slope of Luke’s hip he holds on, indulges himself in touch that Luke seems to soak up. Breakfast is finished, consumed, tidied up, and Han looks back towards the bedroom and figures he wouldn’t mind a nap with Luke at his side. Luke won’t disagree either, letting Han take him by the hand as he did before back to a bed that seems to call both of their names.