Title: Did You Ever
Fandom: Star Wars
Rating: PG
Length: 1000 w
Author notes: For #266, deal, and loud on my bday bingo card. Thanks to minoanmiss for the nudge of inspiration. Title & cut text from Cole Porter.

Summary: Han and Lando haven't seen each other in over two cycles.


Lando is just passing through the riverfront quarter in outer Lem City. He doesn’t need to stop at this janky floating games barge; he's doing very well these days. He has a nice plump pile of credits in various accounts, having just completed two visits to high-stakes, ultra-elegant casinos on Alderaan and Sp'eq-5.

The barge bobs on the strong river currents, the multiple flags wreathing its open deck flapping cheerfully. Lando always has better things to do; however, as a man of adventure and daring, he allows himself the indulgence of whimsy. Moreover, he has some time to kill while his new watered-camlet ensemble of blouse, breeches, and cape is completed down the quay.

The music tinkling out over the deck manages to obscure the worst of the city noise. For that, he’s grateful. Lem is powered by outdated water turbines whose roar is constant and deafening.

He takes a seat at a Bespin Standard table and buys in with a hundred credits in hard currency.

The play is leisurely and cordial, quite the change from the tension and snark at Sp'eq. The breeze off the river is less foul than one might expect, and the sway of the deck lulls the testier hands. Lando is smiling, staking a few new friends, and buying the next round when the crowd starts drifting away. It’s a remarkable phenomenon, how crowds have their own mind and instinct, moving together, focusing on one thing. You can never go wrong in examining what the crowd is drawn to.

You don’t have to agree with it, and you certainly should not blindly join its movement, but there is a canniness in crowds that must be respected. His memoirs treat this topic in much greater depth; he is always looking for new examples.

At the very back of the barge, tucked between the hull and capstan, there’s a small game of flash sabacc. Just two players, speed deals, and no interference field.

A hulking Nautolan is crying as his opponent stacks up his winnings.

“Sorry, snake-head, nothing personal—” Han Solo says, an entirely insincere and poorly-executed copy of one of Lando’s favorite remarks.

They deal out one last hand. The Nautolan sniffles loudly as he unhooks a gorgeous ring from one headtail and drops it in the pot.

The crowd leans forward as one to watch the hand. Lando keeps his gaze fastened on Han: how easily he lounges in his seat, head tilted casually as if he’s waiting at a spaceport, not gambling thousands of credits. His smirk never fades, but frequently brightens. The overlong curls at his hairline brushing the sloppy fold of his collar, the smooth expanse of his chest where he has neglected to finish fastening his jersey.

In the end, the Nautolan loses everything, tail-ring to half a ton of filtration equipment. His weeping redoubles as the crowd breaks up, its entertainment concluded.

As he's arranging his winnings, Han glances up. He finds Lando looking at him and shrugs.

They haven’t seen each other for over two cycles. Then, it was on the other side of the galaxy as they ran for their lives from an exploding jitney that signalled the end of their liaison with the Calleekarna Syndicate. Han went right, Lando went left, and here they are again.

Lando squeezes the Nautolan’s shoulder. “Perhaps I could sit in?”

“Sorry, I’m done here,” Han tells him. “Wouldn’t want to get that nice cape of yours all wrinkled and wet with tears.”

“Shame,” Lando says. “So much loot, so many shiny trinkets—” At that, the Nautolan sobs once more before he pushes back from the table and dives overboard. “— I’d think you’d want to play with it a bit.”

Han considers that, squinting a little at the pile, then sits back, throwing open his arms. “What do you have in mind, pushy stranger?”

Smiling a little, Lando offers Han his hand. “Perhaps a less public venue would suit you?”

“For what?”

As Han's playing dumb about the innuendo, Lando knows that they will put off the prospect of sex for the moment. Not forever, of course. He never forecloses any option, especially not the most pleasurable ones.

Han knocks a loose fist against Lando’s palm. “What am I supposed to do here, kiss it?”

“That’s up to you, my uncouth friend.”

Han’s smile flashes suddenly. “We’re friends now?”

Shaking his head, Lando turns, making sure that his cape sweeps the table and knocks over some of Han’s messy stacks of chips and credits. “We could be,” he says as he moves away. “That’s up to you.”

He has a few more hours until his tailor is finished. Han Solo is impossible to live or work with, but so far as whims to fill up time go, he is among the best.

“Wait, damn it!” Han yells.

Lando stops at the bar, beckoning the server closer. “A Yavin punch, light on the plums, for me, and whatever noxious swill this one wants.”

Cradling his winnings in both arms, muttering to himself, Han catches up. “What are we playing?”

The winnings cascade over the narrow bar, clanging onto the deck. Cursing, Han bends to start picking them up. His jersey tugs loose from his breeches, exposing the pale concavity below his belt.

Lando sips appreciatively at his punch. “Whatever you like,” he tells Han. “I'd say within reason, but we both know you're not familiar with that concept.”

Han looks up, hair in his eyes, scowl overtaking his face. “Missed you, too.”

Lando nods, acknowledging the comment with just enough plausible deniability for comfort. “Deal us up,” he says. “I look forward to taking that pile off your remarkably clumsy hands.”

They might play for a few hours, then part amiably, Lando back to the tailor, Han to whatever mess he's gotten involved with. It's just as likely they'll fall out after a hand or two, shout themselves hoarse, and someone will end up in the river. Maybe they'll retire to Lando's lodgings to “continue the game”, clothes off and mouths full of each other rather than curses.

Equal odds on anger, sex, bonhomie. An adventuring gentleman should never commit to just one outcome, and Lando is far from foolish.