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The problems of command: Luke waltzes in halfway through the briefing, announces he'll be joining Han's command crew for the ground mission, then disappears into the crowd as the meeting breaks up, and Lando can't chase after him because every minor change to the plan generates a half-dozen new details for him to hash out with Ackbar.
He does catch a glimpse, just briefly, of Wedge arrowing through the crowd, cutting a line straight through all the little knots of conversation that have formed between him and the direction Luke went. That's something; at least, when he does get to leave, he'll probably find them both in the same place.
And it's the place he expects, too.
"I'll be with the ground insertion team," Luke is saying when Lando walks into the cramped suite that passes as his quarters-cum-command office. "It'll be perfectly— it'll be pretty safe. Safer than being in an X-wing!"
Lando, who has recently advanced some arguments related to a freighter being safer than a snubfighter in combat, opens his mouth to speak. Wedge must catch something in Luke's body language that tips him off, or maybe he's developing precognitive powers of his own; he points a warning finger at Lando without looking and says, "Don't you start."
"I just think—"
"You'll be with the ground insertion team," Wedge says to Luke, ignoring the interruption.
Luke rolls his eyes, but the look on his face is affectionate. "That's what I just said."
"You'll stay with the ground insertion team."
"As much as I can," Luke agrees, and then, "Don't give me that look! If we could say for sure there wouldn't be any trouble, we wouldn't be bringing a whole strike team."
"I think you have to give him that one," Lando says, taking the couple of steps across the room to join them. "You know what they say about battle plans."
Wedge sighs. "The Imps never read their side of the script. I know." He accepts a quick kiss hello, waits while Lando gives Luke a slower, deeper one— well, he's been away for longer— and then says, "All right. On-planet, you do what you have to do. But you will show up at the rendezvous point."
"Wedge—" Luke starts to protest.
"I think you have to give him that one," Lando interrupts, because it's suddenly apparent to him what this is really about. The chain of events that brought Luke to Cloud City worked out well for all of them, in the end— but it came at a cost for Wedge, not knowing for ages where Luke was or what had happened to him, and evidently that scar isn't entirely healed.
He takes a step closer, not quite between them but close enough to wrap an arm around Wedge's waist, and adds, "I know you're worried you'll lose him again. It'll be all right. He'll be there."
"Of course I will," Luke says at once. He glances at Lando and then back to Wedge, and risks adding, with a little smile, "I'm here, aren't I? Right where I said I'd meet you?"
"You are trouble," Wedge says, leaning in to kiss him. "I ask you for one promise, and what do I get?"
"Why don't you take a minute," Lando says, unclasping his cape, "and work it out between yourselves?" When Wedge glances back at him, he gives him a grin and a wink.
Apparently that's all the encouragement either of them needed. Luke takes a half-step even closer, so when Wedge turns back toward him, they're almost on top of each other; Wedge closes the scant distance with another, longer kiss, his hands finding the hem of Luke's shirt and pushing it upward.
Lando crosses the room behind them, his cape in his hands— there's not much storage space in these shipboard apartments, but he's repurposed what was originally an equipment locker just inside the bunk area as a wardrobe. He strips off his overshirt, too, shakes it out and hangs it up.
When he steps back out into the main room, he sees that Luke and Wedge have had the same idea. Luke is down to his briefs, his trousers still tangled around one ankle; Wedge came in wearing a flightsuit, which Lando knows from experience is a pain to strip off a partner, but Luke has made a game effort and has him out of it from the waist up. They're kissing, open-mouthed, pressed tightly against each other. As he watches, Luke slips one hand down the front of Wedge's open flightsuit, and Wedge groans and surges forward, driving Luke back until he's pinned against the wall.
Normally Lando likes this, watching the two of them together, maybe telling them what to do. Not that he doesn't like to participate, to touch and be touched— but sometimes it's also nice to sit back and enjoy a show.
Tonight, though, his mind is wandering. Maybe it's the same problem that Wedge had, the fear that they'll split up tomorrow and maybe one of them won't come back intruding on his thoughts. He watches as Wedge finds his angle and starts to grind hard and fast against Luke's hip, and thinks, stolen moments in the barracks— which is nothing new in itself. He's noticed that old habit between the two of them before. Sometimes he joins in, treating it as a kind of roleplay, enjoying the pretend secrecy and urgency of it all. But there's a realness to it today, a reason for the urgency that he can't keep out of his mind— quick, quiet, no telling how much time we've got, tomorrow we might all be dead—
He can't sit back and watch. He joins them instead, crossing the room and nudging his way in between the two of them until it's a three-way entanglement— his hand on Luke's waist, his lips on Wedge's neck, Wedge cupping one hand on his ass while Luke slides a hand up under his shirt— and then pries them gently apart, towing them toward the bedroom door.
"Out of the corner," he says, low and breathless. "We're not having a quickie in the pilots' bunkroom."
Luke pulls in close again, quickly finding the same angle against Lando's hip that Wedge had against his a moment ago. "But it's fun," he protests.
Normally, this is where Lando would affect mock outrage. Tease him for being in such a hurry— I'm sorry, do you have somewhere to go? There's something else you'd like to be doing? But he's just gotten him back, and in the morning he's leaving again, and in the moment he's a little afraid that, if he asked, Luke might actually answer.
"I can show you a better time than that," he says instead, and turns his head a little to mouth at the side of Luke's neck. After a moment Luke makes a soft, content little noise and lets Lando steer him the rest of the way to the bed and push him gently down onto it.
Lando goes after Wedge next, targeting his weakness as he did Luke's— he drops onto the bed beside Luke, beckons Wedge closer, and kisses along the sensitive line of his ribs, then pulls him down into his lap, turns to the side, and tips him down alongside Luke. Then he guides the two of them back together— wordless, like a herding dog, all nudges and kisses and nips— and then settles himself at the foot of the bed, one hand on each of their bodies, and watches.
This is an old habit, too, he has to admit— something he recognizes in himself, the same way he recognized stolen moments in close quarters in the way Wedge and Luke fit together. Call it the cruise director, or the stage manager: Lando likes his partners to have a nice time. He likes to give them a nice time, to create and orchestrate it for them, make sure they get the best of every moment.
So if he's a little overly attentive, there's nothing so strange about that. If he's a little too focused on Luke's and Wedge's pleasure, forgetting his own interests, turning all his considerable energy to creating the perfect night for the two of them; if he's watching them too closely, inserting himself too eagerly at the slightest hint of an unmet need, an unkissed mouth, an unstroked cock— it's just the way he likes things.
And if he focuses solely on that, on their experience, on creating the perfect night together, then maybe he'll be too mentally occupied to think about the chances that it'll be their last perfect night together.
Luke is kissing his way down Wedge's chest, one hand on the small of his back, keeping him close as they rut against each other. Wedge's head is tipped back, his mouth half-open, breathing hard. Lando knows him well enough to know what he'll want; he shifts around and half-crawls up the bed, pins Luke between their bodies as he wraps a hand around the back of Wedge's neck and leans in to kiss him, slow but not gentle.
"Why," Wedge pants, when they break apart, "are you still dressed?"
Why is he still dressed, when the three of them have been tangled together on the bed for so long? "I've been watching," Lando says, aware that it isn't really a satisfactory answer— and aware that it isn't really true, too. He hasn't been watching at a remove; he's been right here in the middle of the action, playing his role, just... not quite fully a part of it.
"He's been taking care of everything," Luke says— one of those unsettling moments where you can't tell if he's reading your mind or if you're just not as subtle as you think you are. Probably the latter; he's finished his journey down Wedge's body and is nuzzling at his prick, which doesn't seem terribly conducive to Jedi focus.
"Oh, I see," Wedge says, amused. "They make you a general and— ahh— you think you have to be in charge of everything. Luke, give me a hand here."
Maybe it is mind-reading this time, or maybe they just know each other too well. Luke lifts his head enough to make eye contact with Wedge, but they don't exchange more than a glance before they're moving as one, Wedge tackling Lando (gently) at the shoulders and rolling him onto his back while Luke starts undoing his trousers.
"Now," Wedge says, busying himself with the front of Lando's shirt. "You told me what I was doing earlier, and you were right. Now it's my turn. Did I get it right, too?"
"If I really thought I was in charge of you," Lando informs him, "you'd be on your way to the brig right now, you mutineers."
"But he's on the right track," Luke says, tugging at the trousers— Lando lifts his hips and lets him take them off— and then palming Lando's cock through his drawers before pulling them down as well. "No, stay put— now you get to be taken care of. It's something about that, isn't it? Taking care of us?"
Wedge shakes his head— he's got Lando's shirt open and one hand tucked inside it, idly fondling a nipple. "I know this one," he says. "It's the command role, I think. Trying to will everything to go right, because it's your responsibility if it doesn't. Yeah?"
"I want you with me," Lando says, arching into the touch. It's a lot, both of their hands on him at once, stroking, teasing— especially after he's been sitting out of the action for so long, the sudden attention is overwhelming, and it makes him answer more honestly than he means to. "I don't just mean flying with me, I want you both with me, in my command crew."
Luke leans in to kiss him on the stomach, then lower. "You don't need us there," he says, between mouthing at Lando's cock. "In our fighters, maybe— but there's nothing I can do in a fighter that Wedge can't do. No reason you need both of us with you."
"I know— ah— I know that." Lando tangles a hand in Luke's hair and pulls him gently upward, his other hand landing over top of Wedge's hand to keep it still. "I know that. I'm not trying to stop you from going where you need to go. But I want you both with me, right on my ship, where I can see you. Where I can convince myself there's something I can do to keep you safe."
There's a brief, crowded silence, and then all of them lunge for each other all at once. Luke wraps a warm hand around the back of Lando's neck and kisses him, hard; then Wedge pulls him in to straddle his lap, and brings one slicked hand between them to stroke both of their cocks at once. Just when Lando's about to warn him that he's close, he pulls away again and Luke moves in, alternately licking and sucking at both of their pricks, more teasing than goal-oriented.
Lando enjoys that for a while, then pulls away, letting Luke direct his focus toward Wedge. He does the same, shifting around so he can kiss Wedge deeply, and it seems like no time at all before Wedge is moaning into his mouth, shuddering against him. Lando kisses him through his orgasm, and for a minute or two longer to let him catch his breath; then they exchange a glance and both tackle Luke, Wedge sliding down his body to take his cock into his mouth and Lando going the opposite direction, letting Luke mouth at his.
Everything feels a little chaotic, urgent, messy— none of which is Lando's usual style, but tonight, anxious and needy, he finds it works for him. Gradually he gives in to the feeling of overwhelm, lets himself lose track of exactly whose hands are where and who's doing what. When he finally comes, it's with someone's lips on his, their tongue in his mouth, a hand moving fast and urgent on his cock, and he's in no hurry to open his eyes and sort out which parts belong to whom.
Eventually he does, and finds Wedge draped over him with his head on his shoulder, Luke embracing him from the other side.
"So," Wedge says, almost as soon as they make eye contact. "Was I right?"
It takes some effort for Lando to remember what they were talking about earlier. "You were," he says, eventually. "About what I was thinking, and about how to handle it, I think. You two take good care of me."
"You see?" Wedge shoots Luke a conspiratorial grin. "A general who's a little bit of a control freak. Unheard of."
"Insubordinate," Lando says drowsily. "Find something better to do with that mouth."
"I thought I just did," Wedge protests, and he and Luke are still laughing when Lando drifts off to sleep.