a/n: a quick intro: as the summary suggests, this will be a series of disjointed 'moments' from Han & Leia's 'Identity' honeymoon - unconnected, plotless, fics about nothing - !

La Lune de Miel
Une

"Bored"

She had never swooned over her someday-honeymoon – never fantasized, never lost hours luxuriating over the concept.

Hhe had striven for victorious elections and the end of Imperial tyranny; her aspirations had been political and stately, and she had shied away from the traditionally girlish preoccupation with a wedding, a honeymoon, a man – not out of scorn, out of practicality; as a princess, she had assumed romance to be secondary to duty, and she didn't waste a whit of precious time on contriving a personal bliss when it would be about power, advantage, and elite matchmaking for her –

- and so, to say that this was better than her dreams was an absolute truth, for her dreams had been nothing – and yet she asserted that her honeymoon outdid the wildest dreams of any young woman.

This was bliss, it was euphoria – hours, minutes, days of radio silence and solitude, the privacy of these Corellian mountains was so quiet and so precious, achingly wholesome this was, this was –

It was the trip to Bespin without all the stumbling, without the newness and tumultuous sparks – there was none of the stress and fear that had lingered in a cloud of threat around them during the war – this was Han and Leia stripped bare, alone and purely intimate – no disturbances, no enemy menacing –

Bare and intimate, in the most figurative, and the most literal sense of the words.

Eyes lidded, Leia lay on her back on the bed – her heart fluttered contently in her chest, at ease and lazily aroused – she curled her toes against the intricately decorated, braided metal of the bed frame, and next to her, Han stretched out sleepily in the mess of sheets, basking in sunlight and autumn air that breezed in through open windows –

His hand ran over her shin, her knee, pads of his fingers brushing every inch of her skin – a new ritual he seemed to have taken to, since last night, or early this morning, touching every bare inch of her skin to cool her down - or rile her back up – time ran together; she barely remembered the last time they had dressed, or eaten, or moved from this bed –

Sacred, she thought breathlessly, this place is sacred, this bed is sacred, and he is sacred.

His hand dipped between her legs, and he kissed her hip bone, the top of her thigh, and when she turned her head, her lashes still dancing, her nose brushed his leg – hip to hip they lay, his head near her thighs, hers at his, skin still slick with a layer of sweat, and Leia gasped softly at his sensitive touch –

What had he done? Something, something that made her feel alight, on fire – satisfied and thirsting all at once, as if every miniscule nerve in her was ignited - -she was hyperaware of her skin, her breasts, his lips, his touch –

Hours and hours of this, relentless, and still he wanted her, and she reciprocated – she hadn't caught her breath in hours, and her head spun, how could he – oh, she'd never felt this good in her life, and it would never get old, it would be like this forever –

She opened her eyes, reached over to touch him, her palm sliding over his abdomen.

"Han," she whispered, lips moving against his thigh – and she kissed him there, turning her head, lifting it to rest her cheek on his knee.

He murmured some response, his lips on her stomach, and then sat up, tilting his head at her lazily. His hand trailed between her legs gently, paying light, ticklish attention to her thighs, and Leia shivered, her abdomen tightening – had she – how many times – she'd lost track of how many times he'd made her –

A soft laugh escaped her lips; she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Won't you ever get bored of me?" she teased, barely above a whisper, and Han straightened a little, his hand resting on her hip.

He shook his head, an intoxicated, sultry look in his eyes – his jaw clenched, tightened in such an aggressively masculine, rugged way, she remembered him whispering in her ear, once – hot for you, Sweetheart, 'm always hot for you – god, Leia, Leia - !

She rose up, supporting herself on her elbow, her hand coming to rest in his thigh, and her eyes were soft, curious –

"Ever?" she asked – and the word came tumbling out, not insecure, but searching, interested – it had suddenly struck her that he had promised her forever, forever, and his experience was so extensive where hers was so limited –

He tilted his head.

He sat forward, drawing his legs up, as she mimicked his movement, and she sat close to him, her shoulders straight, almost nose to nose. He took her neck in his hands, lightly and gentle, and her pulse danced and whispered against his palms –

"What's this about?" he murmured, voice thick with brewing desire – and to think, he was still so heady, still looked like he wanted to devour her, take her hard, take her slow, take her, take her – when he'd had her so many times.

"Variety," Leia answered, soft and sweet, her brow lifting airily. "You won't get bored of this," she asked huskily, "one woman, the rest of your life?"

Han made a soft, seductive scoffing noise, immediate and dismissive. He shook his head, hands sliding from her neck to her shoulders – and his thumbs curved in, tracing patters on her breasts, and Leia drew in a deep breath, holding his gaze.

"Wouldn't be the opportune moment for me to change my mind," he teased huskily, and then tilted his head, shaking it again – "Leia," he breathed gruffly.

It was her turn – to take his neck in her hands, touch his jaw with her thumbs affectionately.

"I trust you to be faithful," she murmured. "Tell me if it seems a little boring," she probed – would it, when he had other paramours, other affairs?

She hadn't. She knew no different – intimate commitment was easy, because she had refused it and scorned it until she was absolutely sure –

Han shook his head, his expression intense, conflicted – he looked the way he did when he tried to find words, and he drew her closer –

"It ain't easy learnin' someone new. It ain't exciting always startin' over," he said vaguely – she knew Han, he hated, vehemently hated, talking about his past lovers with her – he leaned in, his forehead brushing hers – "Bored?" he mumbled. "I'll be damned," he growled huskily, "you're better than anything I've ever had."

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard – her, this – it was, easily, the peak of his romantic experience; he'd never be bored, and he'd never be unsafe with her – Leia was a relief, she was his home, and somehow, being able to call her his wife now drove him wild – he needed her like he had before he'd ever touched her.

Leia hung her arms around his neck, shifted next to him, and he kissed her until she broke awake, quietly drawing a shaky breath – and he nudged her shoulder with his chin.

"You're the one who ought to worry about boredom," he murmured, a strange, unexpectedly nervous edge infusing his tone – "Just me?" he asked. "Only me? That's it? Rest of your life?"

She pursed her lips – so strange, the different ways they saw the world, as if maybe there was a glimmer of something the other sacrificed, missed out on, for the sake of a marriage –

"I'm stuck with you now," she murmured, wryly turning the same sort of joke back on him – and then she moved closer, almost on his lap, fiercely, her eyes blazing, breath catching heatedly. "I don't have the inspiration to even wonder what other men would be like," she whispered.

Han gave her a slow, easy smirk, wrapping his arms around her.

"Listen to you, Mrs. Solo," he drawled. He clicked his tongue. "Getting mushy on me."

"What you always wanted, is it not?" she quipped.

Han grinned. He nodded, leaned in to kiss her – his hands went into her hair, over her shoulders, touched her neck, twisted into her necklace, and shifting against him, Leia grasped at his hips, at the sheets, touching until he groaned softly and pulled away, giving her a muted, dry smile – another half hour, Sweetheart –

Han ran a hand back through his hair, and looked at her thoughtful, his jaw tightening attractively again as he swallowed, a spark glinting in his eye –

"Boring," he mumbled suggestively. "I got somethin' for you, Your Highness," he teased.

He laid back, shifting his hips, and Leia moved away slightly, watching him – he lifted one leg, his knee pointed to the ceiling, and reached over his head, grasping the woven iron bed frame – nodded his head, satisfied, and looked over at her, crooking a finger at her suggestively, and then resting his hand on his chest pointedly.

"C'mere," he ordered smoothly.

She tilted her head, brow arched neatly, and sat forward, crawling over – she moved over him, straddling his hips, and he shook his head, and grinned –

"Hmm—huh-uh," he grunted, reaching for her arms, grasping her elbow lightly – "C'mere," he insisted – "You need – your legs under my shoulders," he said, half to himself.

Leia laughed huskily.

"Come again?" she asked.

"Patience, Leia, you will," Han fired back, and she tilted her head back, laughing – only to have him grasp her around the middle, tickling her, and she shrieked, finding herself drawn forward – "C'mere, sit up here."

"Sit where?"

Han arched up a little, and Leia let him direct her – laughed, and gasped, and after significant shuffling around, re-arranging – found herself perched on his chest – far forward, high up on his chest – straddling him, her thighs parted close to his face, and she caught her breath, intimidated briefly by the intimacy.

Han's hands splayed over her lower back, a slow, proud smirk drifting across his lips – his arms were tucked behind her knees comfortably, and Leia's heart sped up incrementally – he looked up at her, his fingertips pressing into her skin possessively, and arched a brow –

"You okay with this?"

She tilted her head at him, nodding, lips parted in anticipation –

"Aren't I heavy?"

"Light as a feather," Han returned easily – he tightened his grip for a moment and pitched her forward just slightly –

Leia grasped the braided metal of their bed, tightening her fingers around it, her ankles caught somewhere under Han's elbows as he held her hips, her knees pressed on either side of his head – she caught her breath again, bit her lip, and reached down to run her hand through his hair –

"Han," she started breathlessly – he pulled on her a little, shifting his shoulders forward, and his mouth was on her – again –

She gripped his hair, then reached up to hang onto the frame again, leaning forward with a shiver, her lips, nose, forehead pressed against that cool metal, whispering his name – she felt immersed in some – nirvana, an unknown echelon of pleasure that was entirely him, only Han, in her blood and in her veins –

Sacred, she thought, crying out – she could be as loud as she wanted here, with no one but him, in stolen days that belonged only to them, these isolated sunrises in their private romance – this time is sacred, she thought, screaming for him, his hands holding her steady, like they always would.

Honeymoon

-alexandra

story #357