a/n: this probably either a love, or a hate. hope y'all went to church and said ya prayers.

Narrative

He was minding his own business.

Doing work, for once – doing something, other than her, which was productive, for the first time in a week; which she, he later decided, saw as neglect – he needed to fix the hot plate in the galley, needed to, that's why he'd gotten up early, left her in bed – trying to avoid a tongue-lashing from Chewbacca, since he'd gotten 'em left and right ever since he'd preoccupied himself with giving-and-receiving tongue-lashings of a starkly different kind with Leia –

He was working, making himself useful; attending to the ship, his other love in life, taken down a notch or two, come to think of it, by this unspeakably intense affair – Falcon? What about the Falcon, who gave a damn about it, compared to her – for all he cared, it was a ship that shared – two letters with her name – with Leia's name –

Leia-Leia-Leia –

She was all over him, occupying him, mind, body and soul – he had it so bad that he was distracted even as he focused on the idle task at hand – jolted, out of a diligent attempt to start functioning outside of his private cabin, by her hands at his hips suddenly, as she stepped up behind him, sliding her arms around his middle.

Her fingertips drifted down his chest temptingly, her nose and lips pressed into his back – bare skin of her thighs pressed into his legs, and she held on to him tightly, breathing him in – he turned his head, tilted it –

He'd left her in bed, and she'd found him, and he couldn't begin to pretend he was sorry.

He was – minding his own – damn business, when she opened her mouth, gripped his hips in her hands, whispered huskily, into his shoulder –

"I used to think of you when I touched myself."

He went still, his hands slipping over the tools on the counter, and he leaned forward, arching his back, loosening Leia's grip – he hung his head for a moment, breathless, and then reached out blindly to pull her to him, pinning her between his hips, and the counter in the galley.

Chewbacca could get over his goddamn whining –

"You used to what?" he demanded hoarsely, even though he'd heard exactly what she said.

His nose pressed against her neck, and he took a deep breath, lifting his head, and his eyes, to hers, his breath catching –

"Think," she whispered, licking her lips, "about you," she curved her hand around his bicep, "when I touched myself."

Han grit his teeth, his eyes raking over her – clad in nothing but his t-shirt, noth-ing, and all pink and flushed, covered in a thin sheen of moisture, as if she'd just showered, or just come –

He took her hips in his palms hard, and boosted her up on the counter, grasping her knees and raising them around his waist.

"When?" he demanded roughly, his hands working fast at the buckle of his belt.

Her voice was sweet, like honey, low, like whiskey, calm, seductive –

"Hoth," she told him – "Ord Mantell. Cataalda. Nentan."

She lifted her knees, shifting forward, her hands drifting down between her legs – she reached out to snap his belt loose of his trousers, dropping it to the floor – she leaned forward to kiss his jaw, her lips moving up, closing over his ear, whispering –

"I would sit…in that tiny 'fresher, on base, with the hot water – pouring over me," she narrated, "thinking of you…imagining…your tongue, in me, your hips – on mine," she breathing hitched –

"Fuck," Han muttered, his eyes heavy, he leaned forward, catching his breath as her hand moved over him slowly – her words were enough to get him hard, but her hand –

"I came so hard I had bite marks on my knees," she murmured.

Han groaned, brushing her hands out of the way – his palms pressed into her thighs, pushing her legs apart, and he gripped her hips, pausing to take a breath – Leia tilted her head and shoulders back, angling her hips towards him, and he slid into her hard, his lips meeting hers when his thrust settled home –

She gave a quiet gasp of satisfaction, reaching up behind her to brace her palms under one of the cabinets.

"Leia," he muttered, hands hooked under her knees. "You're – wet, fuck, you're wet," he panted – all over, too; her hair, her throat, her thighs – she'd worked up a sweat, before she'd come in her and blown his mind –

She caught her breath, tilting her head back and forth.

"Thinking of you," she sang quietly, arching her hips again. "I woke up - you weren't there – "

"You didn't – "

She nodded, her face flushing – he drew his hips back and thrust into her again, drawing a soft cry from her lips; he anchored her to the counter and she moaned –

"Yes, yes," she moaned, in answer to his question, or ecstasy – he would take either.

"In my bed?"

"Yes," she moaned again.

Her eyes flew open as his hips moved, rough and hard, her tongue caught between her teeth seductively –

"Not the first – first – ohhh," she broke off, bowing her head. "Ohhh, ye-eh-ehhs," she cried, throwing her head back again – he slowed down, caught up in her words –

"Not the first time…?"

She shook her head, her nails scratching at the counter behind her.

"Mm, hmm-mm," she whimpered. She looked at him through her lashes. "The trip – to – Nal Hutta, last year," she gasped, and Han slowed again, his fingers digging into her thigh – she hadn't, she hadn't – "You slept in the cockpit," Leia whispered huskily – "I, I – your sheets, smell like you, and I – "

His voice was raw, at a breaking point –

"You – "

"In your bed," she moaned.

"Fucked yourself?"

"Tou—ahhhh-touched," she corrected, almost primly, and he smirked, a laugh escaping him –

"What's the difference?" he managed, circling an arm around her waist and drawing her closer – picking up his pace again, his muscles tensing – so intensely, it almost hurt –

"Upbringing," she murmured hazily, tossing her head, and he laughed huskily, "I slid my fingers," she broke off, unable to speak for a moment as he thrust, and hit some sensitive part of her that – robbed her of words, robbed her of anything other than – "Ohhh my god, Han, fuck!" she shouted, loudly, then reaching up to cover her mouth in shock, and drape herself forward over him, muffling herself, for Chewbacca's sake.

"In my bed?" he repeated raggedly, his rhythm starting to stutter – his hands slipped at her waist, ran hard over her thighs, and he reached up to her shoulders, nudging her chin with his to get her to look at him, and she grasped at his hair, fingers twisting into it – "How many?" he managed, his words stumbling.

"Mmm," she murmured, "Three," she pressed three knuckles into the nape of his neck suggestively – "not bad," she moaned, "not you," she added, hanging onto him.

Han pressed his lips into her shoulder, holding her close – he began to slide his hand over her stomach, and then stopped, shaking his head –

"Do it for me."

"Hmm?"

"Touch yourself."

Leia's hand drifted slowly, form his hair to his navel, then between her legs, tantalizing, slow, she slid her hands in a v-shape over herself, and then turned the knuckle of her thumb into her centre.

She lifted her knees, and Han thrust forward, slamming his palm into the cabinet behind her head – Leia's lips parted, and he flicked his eyes down to watch her hand move, torn between seeing it, and doing it himself –

She sat forward again, leaning closer, her body pressed against his, hindering his movement a little; she sucked in her breath, her other hand grasping at his jaw, fingers brushing his lips, and then his hair – she dug her heels into his lower back –

"Han," she moaned, soft, and familiar – "Han," she begged, hoping he'd hit that spot again, just once, one more time - she stroked her fingers over herself, touching him there, too, as he moved – "Honey," she whispered, breathless, "I'm – going to – "

The word – come – turned into a soft shout; a scrape of her teeth against his shoulder, a cessation, of her hand moving between them – instead she grabbed hold of his shoulders, then his hair, trembling against him, moaning, breathy, and rhythmic in his ear.

Ears ringing, Han held her shoulders tightly, pulling her close – he buried himself inside her, over the edge, losing his mind in the tight warmth of her, his breath raw and rough against her neck –

"Leia," he mumbled, words spilling out of his mouth hotly, "Sweetheart – damn," he swore, pressing erratic, possessive kisses to her neck and shoulders.

Her hands stroked through his hair, tightening and softening gently, a tangible lullaby to ease him down from the heady hurricane of climax. Slowly, he loosened his grip on her, and reached up to take her hand – kissing her fingers with his eyes half-closed.

Head resting on his shoulder, she exhaled a slow, sensitive sigh when he eased out of her, glancing down briefly to loosely resituate his trousers – belt still abandoned on the floor. He leaned forward as if he might collapse, and Leia relaxed her legs, drawing his t-shirt down over her, letting it pool between her legs.

She gazed at him with parted lips, her eyes glittering with an enticing afterglow. She drew one knee up, foot teetering on the edge of the counter, and rested her cheek on her knee – then turned her head, biting gently on her knee, giving him a wry, suggestive look.

He pushed his hair back, still in the throes of – something; of managing his breathing, or getting a grip on himself – she was just so – so –

"You got yourself off in my bed?" he asked again huskily, keeping his voice low – full of awe.

She turned her face into her knee, her lashes fluttering, lips pursing as she lifted her head a little.

"Before we – "

"It wasn't," she whispered, "half as good as getting myself off on you."

Han swallowed hard.

"You thought of me?"

He was still – shaken, invigorated to the core – not only by the hedonistic paradise this had been, with her, for the past week or so – but by the uninhibited heat that was buried deep in her soul –

Leia reached for his hand, leaning closer to him with a sly, slightly sheepish look –

"It was – an accident, the first time," she breathed, "I was only relieving – stress, and I was having a hard time," she trailed off, resting her head on his shoulder tenderly – "you came to mind, and," she bit her lip, dissolving into helpless laughter, "I came so hard I couldn't see."

Han wrapped his arms around her, grinning, burying a smirk in her shoulder. She sighed, content to rest her weight on him – even in crude, rough abandon, there was something so – intimate; precious – about his hands on her skin, and his body so close to hers -

His project abandoned, he leaned into her, holding her closer, his heart struggling to regain a normal rhythm – but he figured its rhythm had been irrevocably changed by her long before this moment – and just as he had been minding his own business when she swept into this slum of a galley and turned his head, wanting attention and gratification and driving him to heaven and back – he'd been minding his own business when she landed in his life, and bewitched him senseless –

Leia-Leia-Leia-

He had it damn bad for her – and he wanted it bad, because a woman like Leia, thinking of him the way she did – it wasn't the kind of business a man let go unminded.

"There is nothing more provocative than minding your own business."

William S. Burroughs.

-alexandra

story # 364