a/n: ... there is no a/n? *NSFW.
Biology be Damned
Imperfection – a word, a thing, which was grudgingly included in any quintessential aspect of life – was considered to be so singularly distasteful, so irksome, and yet, more often than not – imperfection was the origin of laughter, incredible discovery – serendipity; pleasure.
Fantasy and imagination – when it came to people, when it came to places, when it came to stories and minds and hearts – presented an ideal, demanded paragons that were flawless in nature – but imperfection was the absolute truth of life – in everything – in war, in politics – in bed.
Relieved, and delighted, to have Han back in her sights, in her arms, in her sheets, after one of those oh-so-common separations, Leia seethed at the quaint frustrations of life – this reunion should have been explosive, in the hands of her aggressive desire, bridled passion she'd had under her skin while he'd been gone – and his attention to her was whole-hearted, no joke, intense and fierce – ah, but she couldn't get there.
Tangled up with him, tumbling in the careless mess they'd made of the bed they shared in her semi-permanent quarters – the New Republic teetered on the edge of full power, strengthening roots with every victory she won with her words, and Han brutally fought out with his weapons – she gasped hoarsely with the effort of riding his hips, catching her breath, drowning in a sea of just – there – aching – pleasure that made her head spin, but couldn't – quite seem to break.
Leia gasped, slowing her hips a little, pressing her knees into his hips urgently; Han's hands slid from the tops of her thighs to her abdomen, clutching there lightly, and then he ran his palm down between her legs, slipping his fingers against her, nestling his knuckle right – right –
She tilted her head back, closing her eyes tightly – sensed Han open his and lift his head, looking up at her – she knew she was testing his limits; his endurance was – a blessing she wasn't sure she'd quite appreciated before, and she grit her teeth, thrusting her hips forward and lowering herself to his chest, running her hands over his shoulders, over his neck, through his hair.
His fingers moved on her between her legs, his wrist pressing against her stomach, pressure and friction, and Leia breathed in and out heavily, chasing that damn orgasm – she eased up a little, her nose hovering over his chin, and squeezed her thighs, and he groaned sharply, his head jerking back.
His hand darted to her hip and he held her still. His lips moved soundlessly – Come on, Sweetheart –
Leia kissed his throat, his shoulder, unable to hold back an amused, breathless little laugh. She drew her forehead down his chest, trailing her tongue over his hot skin, tasting sweat and tightly wound self-control – her teeth grazed his nipple, and Han's muscles tensed.
She rose up a little more, wrapping her hand around his wrist – pressing his wrist into her hip, and arched her back.
"Ah," Han groaned hoarsely. He shook his head, his eyes fluttering. "Hmm, Hmm-mm, don't move," he warned. "Give me a minute," he managed tensely, tilting his head back.
He opened his eyes, stared at the canopy of the bed – don't look at her, don't look, she'll tip you over – he ordered himself – eight weeks without her, and he wasn't about to let this end without mutual gratification.
Smoothly, his slid his hand out from under hers and moved his knuckles over her – Leia gave a gasp, and shivered, and he breathed out, thinking he'd found a rhythm. He felt her shift, and she lifted her hands to her shoulders, clutching at her own skin for a moment, and tilting her head, arching her back – he knew that slow, easy roll of her hips was good for her, a steady, searing build-up, but it was a losing battle for him – she was taking too long, god bless her, and he'd wanted her so badly for too many lonely nights.
"Leia," he mumbled – the movement of her hips stuttered as he grabbed them again, and he paused for a moment – "Slow down," he asked faintly.
Leia bit her lip, her shoulders shaking – sweat was both hot and cool on her skin, and she was – she was there, mentally, there emotionally, ready to snap, but physically, she just –
One of those days – but how could it be one of those days, when she hadn't seen him in so long, and all she'd had for weeks was fantasy and the somewhat adequate pound of hot 'fresher water on a massage spray setting? How could it – ah, because, this was life, this was imperfect – Han wanted her writhing and moaning in wordless bliss, and yet – hell or high water, she couldn't seem to come.
She draped herself over him, panting lightly, a soft moan of frustration escaping her lips. He stroked her face, drawing his thumb over her lip, and she turned her mouth to catch it between her teeth, slipping her tongue over it to taste her own arousal slick on his fingertips. She bit lightly on one of them.
"It's not you, not you," she murmured, her eyes fluttering – she shifted her hips slowly, and an intense spike of pleasure gripped her – she gasped, and tightened her muscles around him, bowing her head – but it faded.
Han groaned, hand tangling in her hair.
"Leia," he mumbled huskily – he grit his teeth, fighting to calm his body down – he'd been with Leia more times than he could count, he knew he'd be with Leia, and no one but Leia, for the rest of his life now, and still that didn't bore him, didn't dampen his attraction to her – she wrecked him, and he was at the tail end of his stamina, hanging on by a thread.
"Mmm," she moaned softly. "I give up," she said lightly.
She kissed his fingers, leaned down and kissed his lips.
"No," he murmured.
She nodded, gave him a soft word of encouragement – there's time later, Han –
He shook his head, his hands running over her – back to her hips, up to her shoulders, to her sides – and he executed a swift, instinctive shift to the right that had them tumbling again – Leia on her back, where she'd started, when it seemed like things were going all to plan – frenzied foreplay, sprint, peak –
She gasped, tilting her head back into a pillow and immediately arching her hips up to him, while Han adjusted his knees and slid forward, tightening his jaw and settling into the cradle of her hips – he took a moment to breathe, almost undone right there, just by the shift in her position, the familiar tight, wet warmth of her body.
He took a few steady breaths, pausing to lower his mouth to her shoulder, and then her breasts, his tongue and teeth grazing her nipples with intimate knowledge of just the kind of pressure she liked there, and Leia whimpered appreciatively, her lips parting.
He took a chance on shifting back, thrusting forward slowly, and Leia's abdomen tightened violently – gasping, she pushed her hips up towards him in response, and he felt a twinge of satisfaction.
"Han," she murmured, her eyes closing a little – she concentrated, her breath coming in short bursts – he watched her, unsure if she was struggling with it, trying to force it – he wanted so badly to get here there, tonight, when they'd been apart, but a part of him faltered – kriff, he swore to himself – I can't –
He bowed his head with another hoarse groan, unable to watch her – that fine, alluring pink blush on her cheeks, the tangle of hair, swollen, parted lips – watching Leia almost come was damn near as incredible as making her come.
She ran her hands down to her stomach, slid her palm over herself, and caught her breath, reaching up to hold his hips in her hands. She nodded at him, and he trusted her, bracing his hand next to her head –
"Mmm," Leia murmured, her soft murmur pitching into a cry when he started to pick up his slow thrusts – he had no illusions about his ability at the moment; she had about ten seconds before he was – Leia arched her back and closed her eyes so tightly, her shoulders trembling – "Han," she cried – she seemed to lose her voice almost angrily, struggle with words.
He tried to read her mind – harder, slower?
"Leia," he managed huskily. "Sweetheart, I'm – "
She nodded feverishly, and he wasn't sure if that meant she was there, or if she understood; she dug her fingertips into his waist possessively, arched her hips towards him, and tightened her muscles violently, merciless, coaxing him – and when that unraveled him, shattered his control – he lost himself in her with a low moan of satisfaction, knowing, his ears ringing dully as he came, that her sudden cry was a shout of frustration.
His head pounding in that – dizzy, light way it always did, he was still for a moment, keeping his weight off of her, his breathing in harsh, quiet bursts against her shoulder – and he lifted his head, and kissed the corner of her mouth, his muscles relaxing slowly – Leia's body hummed with anticipation underneath him, her skin alight with fire, jittery and begging to be tended to.
He shook his head, sated; yet struck with a rush of selfishness – which he roughly, and swiftly, abandoned – there was no need to berate himself when he sure as hell wasn't about to roll over and fall asleep. Leia slipped a hand through his hair softly, and he heard her murmuring his name as he moved off of her at an angle – he heard her quiet gasp, a little moan of longing – she wanted him back inside her, or she wanted – ooh, she needed him.
Han's abdomen rested over hers, his hips between her legs – and she lifted her knee up; he turned his head and looked at the inside of her thigh, twisting to kiss her there – ah, that was easy – a few moments of his head between her legs and she'd be screaming –
His gut told him otherwise though; the usual tricks had all been tried tonight and –
He looked up sharply, catching his breath.
"Hey," he said.
"Han, it's – " she began quietly, supporting herself on her elbows and sitting up – she shifted under him, and he sensed her restlessness – all worked up, burning for him, and fighting with some unfathomable, unfair resistance from her own body –
He shook his head – it sure as hell was not okay, but he –
He pushed himself up, shifted forward, and leaned over her, careful not to press down on her too hard. Her lips pressed against his chest as he rose up and stretched towards the bedside table, fumbling in the drawer with a spark of intuition and a little sense of thrill – he'd never used – not with Leia, but he knew she had –
Leia turned her head, asked him a muffled, soft question, and Han rummaged, shoving aside what he knew to be – some of her snacks, lip balm, lubricant – and he found it, tucked neatly under a file of Senate documents.
Han drew back, his heart still stuttering – still able to feel her pulse running on overdrive, her heart slamming eagerly against her chest, and he held in his hand a petite, lavender oval, almost like a mirror compact.
He turned his thumb against a barely noticeable notch on the side, and smirked, shifting back to lay along side her – he let her see what he'd found, let her hear the muted, demure buzz emanating from it, and watched Leia's lidded, soft brown eyes sharpen and light up intensely – confusion, then recognition, then apprehension – then, then, what he knew had to be anticipation, skated across her face in seconds.
The bridge of her nose turned red, and she lifted her head.
"Han," she began faintly. "You – " she started.
He nodded, and lowered his hand, skimming her breasts, nipples, and sternum with the item lightly. Leia's lashes quivered, and she parted her lips, trailing off – her heart leapt, and her stomach tightened – oh, is he going to –
Han's hand slipped between her legs, and he slid the oval object against her –
"Oh, yes," she gasped huskily – she started to draw a breath, and her stomach tightened sharply – instead, she cried out incoherently – he managed to capture her nerves as she was winding down, just as her body seemed to have betrayed her, given up – and the touch of that coolness, wrapped in the warm, rough skin of his palm, gripped her like a firework, like the first drink of water in a blistering hot desert –
She cried out again and threw her head back, falling back flat on her shoulders. Han applied pressure slowly, and then mercilessly when she started to respond with increased fervor –
His eyes swept over her, watching the twist and tighten of her body, the way she bit her lip and tossed her head – she turned towards him and grabbed his bicep tightly, gasping, and he grinned, leaning down to press open-mouthed kisses to her neck and shoulder – any part of her bare skin he could reach.
"Han," Leia moaned, barely able to get out the words she wanted – Han, that's – you're – oh, oh, fuck it was so good – "Ah," she gasped. "Honey. Oh, honey."
Han's stomach flipped, spinning the way it always did when she called him that – and she so rarely did, almost always in bed, when she was overwhelmed and aching for him – he pressed his hand harder against her, focused – and Leia felt the vibrations in her toes and up her spine, gripping her –
She held onto him tighter, tossing her head – how many times had she quickly used that thing on herself, for stress relief, to sleep better, to make-up for his absence - she'd hardly thought twice about it, and somehow, his using it on her was the most incredible, unbelievable –
She pushed her hips towards the pressure, and Han applied it back towards her, shifting to catch her lips with his. She gave him a kiss for a moment, and then broke away and turned onto her back, and he watched her lips part, her lashes do that fluttery dance.
He twisted his hand just a little, only enough so that he could ease his thumb inside her the barest amount, and Leia gave him a soft little scream – "Haa-aaa-an!" – his name escaped her lips in a reverent, exquisite moan, and he had her.
Leia's hands slipped on him as she tried to hold on, she lost her voice, trying to scream for him again – he eased the pressure of the vibrator off, and thrust his thumb inside her, drawing it out slowly, and she gasped hard, struck with the sudden urge to burst into tears – he'd made her feel this good before, but there was something about his – commitment to her pleasure, his finding a new way to make her come this hard, even when it had seemed her body just wouldn't go there tonight – time stopped, for a breadth of a second in the intensity of it.
Her hand shook as she re-established her hold on his arm, anchoring herself to him, twisting towards him again as he thrust his fingers slowly, slowly, slowing down as she came down, easing his hand off of her – and the silence, for a moment, was stark, when he casually powered off the vibrator, gingerly leaned over her again, and tossed it wordlessly back into the drawer.
Leia rested her arm over her face for a moment, her knee shaking. She felt Han sit up a little – felt him tuck some sheets between her legs – and then she eased her knee down, turning on her side towards him, peeking at him from behind her wrist.
He laid down next to her, propping his head up, and Leia watched him hazily, unable to catch her breath – she relaxed in increments, almost delirious with relief; her eyes stung with sweat, and those unexpected, burning tears. She ran her hand over his arm with a trembling touch.
He cleared his throat, the sound gruff and attractive, and reached out to run his finger over her jaw lightly, tucking damp strands of hair away from her face. He forgave himself a little for beating her to it – gave her a small, wry smirk when she caught his eye, and smiled, a halting, husky laugh escaping her lips.
Han leaned in and kissed her jaw, kissed her lips – long and slow, intense and possessive, and she squeezed her legs together, her stomach stirring gently with latent arousal – aftershocks, afterglow –
"I love you," she murmured to him.
He laughed under his breath.
"Mmmhmm," was the teasing, charming answer – "You always love me after you come."
Leia reached for his neck, her hand fluttering in his hair.
"I always love you," she retorted, coquettish and languid.
Han grinned, gathering her up, and pulling her close, sheets a tangled mess between them – they'd need a shower, and the rest of the night – it was back to the front lines tomorrow; Leia in diplomatic battles, Han digging the trenches for his next fight – and then maybe, a lifetime to themselves when there was lasting peace.
Her face tucked against his neck, she breathed in deeply, and leaned her head back, eyes catching his wryly.
"I didn't know," Leia confessed in a soft voice, "you knew I kept that there."
He gave her a little knowing look, and Leia batted her lashes at him with a sign – it didn't embarrass her; it wasn't that she cared if he knew – there were just things a woman kept to herself, where she was from – and she didn't ask him how he handled himself in his bunk when he was away from her.
He pulled her close, tight, again. He breathed her in, and let out his breath contently, loosening his grip on her a little, shifting back to take her in appreciatively – he gave her a languid, crooked smile.
"You think of me, don't you?" he asked huskily. "When you use it."
Leia placed her hand on his heart; quirked a brow suggestively – he didn't seem insecure, but it was sweet, somehow heartwarming, that he wanted her to tell him her thoughts didn't stray even then.
She nodded – and stars, after that, she was honor bound to think of him when she used it.
She marveled at it – it barely made sense – she turned to that impersonal little – trinket – for detached satisfaction, some part of her might have even considered it vulgar, to bring it into bed with them – like it was insulting him, or making their intimacy somehow – clinical. And yet, in his hands – the feeling of it had been entirely different her feelings for Han amplified everything – every time she'd ever touched herself, held a vibrator and a pillow between her legs in her quarters so no one would hear it – it had never felt as good as it did when he was with her, too.
Imperfect – she thought, because none of her girlish, romantic notions of sleeping with a man had involved frustrated attempts to climax, and a sex toy – imperfection; the origin of experiences that were to die for.
Leia laughed softly, catching his eye – gorgeous pink flush on her cheeks, and Han lowered his hand to her waist, pulling her hips against him – if he held her there, thought of her, looked at her, he'd be hard again, biology be damned – that was the whole point of this indescribable thing they had: it scoffed at physical limitations, because it was made of heart and soul.
This ... is one of those fics I edit over and then pause before posting, because I think "...this is a territory I haven't done. Do I want to commit?" Guess I do.
-Alexandra
story #355