CRASH LANDING
Chapter 1
(Han's POV)
"Kids are asleep," Leia announces to me as she comes into the bedroom. She's just finished brushing her teeth and scrubbing off what few cosmetics she wears. She's removing her clothes ever so slowly. I gasp as she does. She's seven months pregnant, and there's nothing I can think of that is anywhere nearly as sexy as Leia when she's pregnant. This is likely to be our last child, so I'm enjoying the view, and she knows it.
She looks like a plump, ripe Kavasa fruit, which happens to be my favorite fruit. She's got the roundess and the perfect blush. The first two months were a little tough on her but she's been much healthier during this pregnancy than she was with the other two. Maybe having a non Force sensitive kid is easier. Who knows. All I know is that she is so sexy right now, I want to eat her up.
We got confirmation two weeks ago that in fact we are having a boy. I was a bit partial to having another daughter, but then I thought about how Jaina would react, and it was not a pretty picture. I'm glad I didn't bet Luke.
She begins taking her hair pins out, letting the silky darkness flow over her. I love the smell and feel of that cloak of hair. Alderaanian women customarily do not cut their hair, and I love it. She trims the ends from time to time, but it flows over her like a silk waterfall.
I have actually seen her in a waterfall-we were both very wet and very naked and it was, well, pretty damn incredible making love that way. That was on our second anniversary. Leia was pregnant with the twins and I couldn't keep my hands off her. I remember the warm sunlight, the cool water, the fresh breeze, the smell of the flowers.
On our third anniversary, she was pregnant with Anakin. We went to Sebor 6, the water planet, and again, spent most of our time wet and naked. I remember the soft sheets on the bed in our hotel room, the tang of the salt water around us, the softness of the air in the morning and the sharpness of it at night, the huge pale blue moon in its sky.
These are but a few of the memories I have of my pregnant wife, and they're all wonderful.
"Our anniversary's next month," I call out to her. "How do you want to celebrate?"
"I need to not be too far away, just in case we have an event like we did with the twins." The twins were born four weeks early, which isn't terrible-it's within a week of full term-but I understand her reservations about being, say, on the Outer Rim. Anakin made up for it by being two weeks late. Maybe this one'll come on time.
"Works for me."
She comes and lies down on the bed next to me. She is still naked and she's radiant. I set down my datapad as she pulls on the strings of my sleep pants.
"Is there something you want, your Highnessness?" I ask teasingly. I know what she wants, and I absolutely want to take advantage of it. Of course, she's noticed that I've already developed an involuntary response to her before she even lies down. It's all her fault and she's damn proud of it. I'm naked in no time, and I lie on my side, facing her, taking in her soft red lips. I remember the very first time I kissed those perfect lips in what seems like a lifetime ago, but the sensation will never escape my memory. She called me a scoundrel. I told her she liked me because I'm a scoundrel. (According to her, I remain a scoundrel. I like the sound of that.) She told me she liked nice men. I assured her I was a nice man and I kissed her. It was soft at first, super gentle, but we had just begun exploring each other's lips a bit more when Threepio interrupted us. I could have deactivated him permanently at that point.
I take in her eyes, those deep chocolate brown windows to her soul. When I met her, I took her for an old soul. And she is one, in many ways, but when we're alone and naked, she's anything but. She has long, dark lashes. Her skin is pale ivory, creamy and nearly flawless. (She acquired stretch marks from the twins, but I consider that just another aspect of her that suggests her deep involvement with all that she loves.) She has the cutest nose, and thank the gods two out of our three kids got hers. Jacen has mine, but on him it looks good. The twins have my mouth (literally and figuratively), but Anakin lucked out in that department. She has a beautiful face, ever so slightly round, and cheekbones that most would envy. There's a small spray of freckles over the bridge of her nose that I find adorable.
Right now, those eyes sparkle at me, and I pull her gently a bit closer. I can feel our son kicking Leia. "He may not have the Force, but he's got the strength of a gundark," I say to her, and then I lean in and kiss her.
"Let's hope he has better manners than a gundark," Leia says, and she laughs gently. "He is lively, no question about it."
We kiss again, gently at first, but we gradually deepen it. I kiss her on her collarbone on the spot that only I know and she closes her eyes, drinking it in. I love her little moans of pleasure. She isn't just someone who takes, though. She knows every spot on me that makes my nerves tingle in a most wonderful way.
My hands move down to her belly. Even though we've had three kids, each time it never fails to move me that she and I can create life together. That, to me, is the ultimate turn on. I lean over to kiss her again, this time more intense. I can't get enough of her. Every touch leaves me wanting more. I moan her name as she begins stroking my cock, not wanting the moment to end.
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(Leia's POV)
I never cease to be amazed by Han Solo, my husband, my lover, my friend. I look into those green-amber eyes of his, their bottomless depths. He does not expose himself to many people, and none at the level he does me. Despite his outward mannerisms, he is a deeply private man, and only shows himself to me and to our children.
And oh my gods, he oozes sexuality. One of the things that attracted me to Han was that he's a man through and through. I grew up with playboys and pretenders and pretty boys all around me. My father, whom I otherwise adored, expected to make an appropriate match for me when I became of age. I'd let him know that that would never happen.
And it didn't. I am one of the lucky ones: I truly did marry for love.
Love with Han Solo means never having a dull moment. It can be challenging, frustrating, infuriating, exhilirating, pick your adjective, but leave boring out of it. Making love with him is no exception. His hand may be roughened by working with them for so many years, but the rest of his skin is soft and golden in color. His hair is thick but the strands are fine; he's got baby soft body hair, especially on his chest. I love his chest; I listen to his heart beat, feeling safe in his embrace.
Right now, he runs his thumb along the underside of my breast. He knows where all my sensitive spots are. I'm seven months pregnant, and he loves that my bra size increases three sizes when I'm expecting. If anything, his kisses, his touches, I feel them all the more when I'm pregnant. He knows how to enter me, accommodating our extra passenger comfortably.
"I love you," he says, his voice a deep rumble, soft and sexy, as he places his hand on my belly, and laughs gently when our little boy kicks.
He spoons me, lays me into his body. I'm so at ease with him like this; he has strong arms but a gentle touch. I feel him slowly enter me and I gasp for air. He moves deeper, very slowly, his hands touching the rest of my body and making me cry out for him. There comes a point where we can't tell when one begins and the other ends.
The most beautiful sound in the galaxy is Han climaxing. He moans as if he's on the border of pleasure and pain, calling my name, his breathing ragged, his eyes dark, every sense heightened. I follow him to the edge of my own sensations, sparkling at every nerve ending, crying out his name.
We lie together, sweating, our breathing slowing, our heartbeats quieting. I love the afterglow; sometimes we tell each other our deepest secrets, other times we're quiet. My head is on his chest, his arm draped over me.
"You know, we should probably think about what we're going to name this little guy," Han said softly.
"You're right. If we don't, the kids will insist on choosing the name, and the gods fear this for a good reason."
"Just look at the names Jacen chooses for his pets, and worry."
"Hmm. So what do you want to name him?"
"We were gonna name Anakin Han Solo Junior."
"Might get confusing, having two kids with the same name," I tease him.
"Hey now, was that a kid that just made love to you?" He pulls me in closer.
"I think you wore me out. My brain is refusing to work."
"Same here."
"We'll think of something."
"Hopefully by the time that he pops into the world."
"We've got about eight weeks to go."
"Which are gonna go pretty fast."
"For you, yes. For me, well, he's just going to keep getting bigger."
"Thank you, sweetheart."
"For what?"
"For making me a dad again."
"I love you, Han." I feel my eyelids closing, and we both drift into a comfortable slumber. Every day brings its own challenges; for now, we leave them behind.