Corellian Engineering Systems rates the standard YT-1300 with a passenger capacity of six. The YT-1300 also carries a crew rating of six: pilot, co-pilot, navigator, astrogator, and two gunners. The specs are, presumably, based upon an average Corellian human.
Currently there were nine humans, two droids, and one Wookiee on board the Millennium Falcon. No matter how far from average the crew might have been, there was no doubt that the ship was bursting at the seams.
It would be at least two more standard days before the ship made port on Coruscant and the Falcon's captain was not a happy man. He'd hardly left the cockpit for three days, his back was killing him, and he was nearly cross-eyed with fatigue.
Before this little trip, he'd spent three weeks on a Mon Cal cruiser in the Outer Rim, and he'd been looking forward to returning to Coruscant and enjoying a little of his accumulated leave time.
When he'd learned that the New Republic's most popular diplomatic figure, Leia Organa, had been dispatched to observe the elections on Pandir and would be gone for several more weeks herself, he'd changed his mind about taking time off.
Instead he'd managed to convince General Willard to send him and Chewie, on the Falcon, instead of the planned passenger transport, to collect the Ambassador and her team. Eyebrows had been raised and he suspected that Willard knew full well why he'd volunteered for the assignment, but he didn't care. He'd get to see her at least a week sooner than he would have otherwise, and with luck, he might finagle a day or two of holiday on the way home, too.
It hadn't worked out quite the way he'd hoped.
The election had gone badly for the candidates supported by the New Republic, and the victors had been anxious to have the Ambassador and her entourage off planet as quickly as possible, ending further public discussions about the touchy subject of New Republic membership once and for all.
The few remaining council members who supported annexation had decided to take their case to Coruscant directly. They'd gathered at the capitol's spaceport, hoping to hitch a ride on whatever New Republic transport arrived to escort the Princess home. The newly elected leadership had gotten wind of the plan and decided to take the opportunity to assert their authority.
Unfortunately no one had expected the Princess's escort to enter the fray. When the dust settled, six council members were dead on the tarmac, and five of them were holed up in the Falcon's crew cabin, getting a free - if slow - ride to Coruscant. The para-light boosters had been damaged by blaster fire at close range, and the Falcon could not sustain a hyperspace jump for any extended length of time. Limited to mini-jumps of an hour or less, she needed a good two hours to recharge the remaining boosters between jumps.
Han had been in the cockpit for most of the trip, calculating and executing short hyperspace hops, occasionally crashing for a quick nap on a couch in the central lounge, and he hadn't been alone with Leia for more than ten minutes since they'd left Pandir.
This was partly his fault, as there'd been some shouting when he'd found out what she'd been doing while he and Chewie were mopping up the mess in the landing bay. Which had been conducting negotiations with the six stowaways. Whom she had insisted were her guests. Diplomatic guests, she said, with diplomatic privileges.
Diplomatic privileges seemed to involve eating his food, tramping yellow dust all over his ship, and just flat being underfoot. Every time he turned around, someone was there. Sitting on the couches in the lounge, while he and Leia tried to watch a holo drama. Playing games at the holochess board with Chewie. Always complaining about something.
It didn't get any better at night. The guests slept on bunks in the crew cabin. Chewie had strung a hammock for himself in the aft hold. The two security officers accompanying Leia to Pandir slept on the couches in the lounge, and Leia slept on the bunk in the medical alcove.
General Solo had taken to sleeping in his chair.
The chrono on the console assured him that no matter how long it seemed, today was only the fourth day they'd been traveling. Setting the coordinates for the next jump, he launched the ship into hyperspace yet again and checked the recalculated arrival estimate. Four, maybe five more jumps, and they'd be home. Probably not tomorrow. But the next day, for sure.
He rose from his seat, stretched and cracked his back. Time to get up and walk around a little. Before he could comm Chewie to see if his copilot would relieve him for an hour or so, the console speaker buzzed and the Wookiee's deep growl filled the cockpit. ["Solo! Are you there?"]
"Yeah, I'm here. Where else would I be?" Han snapped back, irritably. "I was about to ask you to come up and trade with me."
["I will, but first I was hoping you'd come down to the maintenance bay? I need another set of hands down here."]
"You makin' any progress bringing any of those boosters back up?"
["Some."]
"All right, all right. I'll be down in a sec, I got a couple more things to do up here."
Han turned toward the hatch, where he was surprised to find the Ambassador herself, leaning against the bulkhead. "Hey, stranger," she said, smiling.
"Hey, yourself." He sighed, dropping wearily back into his seat. "Wasn't sure you were still aboard."
Leia settled into the navigator's chair, behind his. "I was seriously considering one of the escape pods yesterday, but Chewie caught me at it and threatened to stuff Threepio in with me."
"I'd rather jettison the lot of them straight back to Pandir, you wanna to know the truth."
"They aren't a very cheerful bunch, are they? I could have told Mon after the first day that they were going to lose the election."
"They're your guests, sweetheart."
"I know. I know."
He leaned back in his seat and stretched, wincing with pain as he rotated his stiff shoulders. She turned her chair and rested her hands, gently, at the base of his neck. "You've been up here for three days straight?"
"Trust me, it's better than tryin' to sleep in the lounge. How're you doin' on the med bunk?"
"I'm managing."
Reaching back, he caught her fingers in his own and led her to the knots in his shoulders. Taking the hint, she began to massage his aching muscles. It felt so good that he dropped his head forward, chin on his chest, and closed his eyes, contentedly. It took him a moment to realize it when the tenor of her touch changed, becoming less therapeutic and more sensual. When her lips brushed the back of his neck, though, he gave a low growl. "Don't start something you can't finish, Leia."
"Who says I can't finish it?" she whispered, her voice a soft brush against his skin.
"We have company, in case you've forgotten."
Without a word, she rose from her chair, crossed the cabin to the hatch, and threw the bolt.
He felt a stirring of hope.
"What are you doing, Princess?"
"What do you think I'm doing?"
"I think," he said, drawing her between his knees as she turned from the hatch, "that you are up to no good."
"Me?" she teased. "I can't imagine where you'd get that idea."
His hands slid along her ribs and traced the curve of her hips. His voice dropped to a low rumble. "Are you wearing underwear?" She giggled as he found a particularly ticklish spot behind her knee, and she sank forward, settling comfortably on his lap.
She leaned her forehead against his, and they laughed, softly, together.
"I missed you," she said, softly.
"Missed you, too."
"I noticed."
"Did you, now?" He chuckled as her fingers began working at his buttons and belt buckle, "You know, Princess, I've had some seriously good dreams that start off this way," he teased.
"Really? This is what men dream about? Sex in random places on a spaceship?"
"Well, yeah. What do women dream about?"
"I don't know... when I dream there's usually a BED involved."
"How boring," he murmured, his lips against her neck. "No exotic locales?"
"Um..." She was finding it hard to concentrate. "Maybe a beach, sometimes."
"A beach? I like the sound of that. Tell me what else you dream about."
She pulled away from him a moment and looked down, fondly, into his smiling face. "I dream about you, you scoundrel. Isn't that enough? Do I have to imagine being ravished in the cockpit?"
"Not anymore, you don't have to imagine it. You're about to BE ravished in the cockpit." His hands slid inside her shirt, and his palms were warm against her skin.
She tangled her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck, and drew his head forward, between her breasts. "You might want to start here," she whispered.
He took the hint and made quick work of her buttons, lifting her shirt over her head to gain better access. He set to work with tongue and teeth and lips and she gave a low moan of pleasure, arching her back. He hadn't shaved in three days and she was unexpectedly delighted by the scrape of stubbled jaw against her skin. "That tickles," she laughed softly, shivering at the sensation.
"Let your hair down," he murmured, and she complied, undoing the twisted braids that circled her head. His fingers loosened the tight plaits and her hair fell in a shining curtain around them. 'That tickles, too," he told her, drawing a thick handful against his cheek as he turned his head to breathe in the scent that was uniquely hers.
In a moment most of their clothes were in a crumpled heap on the deck and she was straddling him, sliding smoothly down along his length and taking him inside her. She ground her pelvis against his and he gasped as she clutched, hard, at his shoulders. "Gods, Leia." He reached up and caught her wrists, redirecting her hands onto the back of the captain's chair. Bracing herself against the chair, she lifted her hips again, and then his hands were on her backside, pulling her back down. Two fingers slid between her folds and found her center as she rocked in his lap, and the stimulation was more than she could take. Giving herself over to the pleasure, she cried out and fell forward, heavily, against his chest.
"Un-uh," he chided, nudging her with his chin. "Come on," he grunted, "we aren't done here yet."
She directed his hungry mouth back to her breasts. "Then you aren't done here yet, hot shot." He was happy to oblige. "Chewie's going to kill you," she gasped, "when he smells this chair."
"Yeah, he probably is." He lifted his head to lick at the throbbing pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat. "But it'll be worth it."
His mouth found its way back to hers, and she yielded to his exploring tongue as it circled in rhythm with the movements his hips were making beneath her. At last she broke the kiss, gasping for a breath, and turned her face away from his, her cheek against his bare shoulder. "Oh, Han," she breathed, arching backward again, her whole body trembling with the effort.
He slid his hands down to the small of her back, holding her steady as she ground her hips against his. "That's it, baby," he coaxed, "let go." With great effort, he held back until she gave a long, shuddering cry, and fell forward, settling bonelessly against his lap.
Then he wrapped his arms tight around her ribs, thrusting upward with all his strength, grunting with the effort as he let go, spilling his passion deep within her warmth.
They stayed there for a long moment, tangled in each other and in the chair, her head resting on his shoulder, and their ragged breaths and racing heartbeats were the only sounds.
"Wow," she managed, at last. "Wow."
He kissed the hollow beneath her ear. "Wow, indeed."
As she leaned down to reach for the clothes they'd tossed aside so hastily, the intercom on the console behind them burst into life, and the cabin was abruptly echoing with the voice of an extremely irate Wookiee.
["Solo!"]
Sheepishly, Han rose from the chair, setting her carefully on her feet on the deck as he stretched out an arm to press the talk button. "I'm still here, just hang on, all right?"
["You've been screwing around up there for a half an hour. Will you get your ass down here and help me?"]