a/n: a collection of sexual mishaps!

"The Finger"

With her forehead pressed hard against the cushions of the sofa, and her nails digging into the tough, sturdy back of it, Leia was fighting a dizzying battle between deciding if this position hurt her breasts, or if it felt good enough to override that. The tender press of Han's hand against her lower back was a direct contradiction to the roughness of his hips as he thrust into her, and she closed her eyes, muffling another moan into the pillows.

His hand curled around her hip, anchoring her to him, and he slowed his movements, bending over her to press kisses to the back of her neck, his breath coming in hard, quick gasps. She lifted her head, tilting it back a little, panting.

"Talk to me, Han," she begged, her lashes fluttering.

"Are you close?" he growled in her ear.

She nodded.

"Mm. Mmm, so close," she gasped, pursing her lips for a kiss.

He kissed her jaw instead, drawing his tongue over it to her ear and burying his nose in her ear, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Talk to me," she begged again, softer. She shifted her hips back against him insistently and he groaned, gripping her hip hard.

"Easy, I gotta slow down," he mumbled, kissing her ear again. He took a deep breath, restraining himself, and Leia gave him no mercy, shifting her hips again, making a soft, seductive noise in the back of her throat.

"Don't stop, don't slow down," she argued. She bowed her head. "I can get there, mmm," she teased breathlessly, "just – just listening to you – come – is enough," she murmured faintly.

"Fuck," Han swore huskily, his lips trailing over her spine. "Holy hell," he murmured, straightening up and stroking her hair. He curled his fingers into it and started to thrust hard again, keeping up a steady rhythm.

Leia moaned, digging her teeth into the sofa cushions.

"This is why they hate you, you know," she teased, her voice washing over him in a sultry downpour – she clicked her tongue – "all the people who think you're not good enough for me," she murmured. "Jealous you get to take me like this."

Han grit his teeth, tilting his head back slightly.

"Yeah, Sweetheart, I know," he said, his teeth grit. "Scandalizes 'em," he muttered, "the idea of the princess of Alderaan gettin' laid."

"Mmhm," she agreed huskily. "Offends their sensibilities, the idea of a," she gasped, the tempo of her breaths rising sharply, punctuating her words, "smuggler," she managed faintly, "fucking me like he's in charge."

Han closed his eyes, reaching out to brace his hand against the back of the couch. He steadied her hips tightly with his other. He groaned softly, and slid his hand over to her, pulling at her shoulder. Leia pushed herself up a little, arching her back.

"They can't stand it," she gasped.

He leaned forward, kissing her ear, her neck –

"Can't stand the idea of you screamin' my name," he agreed hoarsely, kissing her shoulder, his thrusts become quicker, more purposeful – she yelped his name obligingly – "or me talkin' dirty to you," he whispered, "you beggin' me to make you come."

"God, Han, oh god," she prayed rapidly, her breath coming in short gasps, "yes, oh yes, like that, right there – "

She gripped the edge of the sofa and braced herself on it, pushing back to against him some resistance, and he gripped her hips with a grunt, his breath stuttering in a low, attractive groan. She dug her nails in, parting her lips in anticipation, that last grind of his hips against hers as he buried himself in her, swearing – and she slipped forward, losing her grip, banging her nose on the hard edge of the sofa, and –

"Ouch," she muttered hazily, which was likely not what Han was expecting to hear.

In an instant, a burst of pain from her index finger overwhelmed her senses and erased all possibility of orgasm. Distracted, and confused about what had happened, she paused, and lifted her head, surreally aware of Han, lost in the throes of his own passion, and her sudden detachment from the hot and heavy act.

She lifted her hand, and blood poured down her finger, and it looked a little bent. She blinked, startled – it appeared half the nail had been ripped off, caught in a divot and yanked off when Han thrust forward so hard.

She straightened, upending his movements, and Han gave a low grunt, grasping at her hips. He buried his face in her hair, hazily confused as to why she was trying to stand up in the middle of him finishing – instinctively, he grabbed her hip and squeezed, pushing her forward gently to avoid making a mess.

Leia propped herself up on one elbow.

"Han," she said.

He groaned appreciatively.

"You good?" he murmured, collapsing over her to kiss her neck.

"No," she said dryly.

He shifted, concerned.

"You said you were – "

"Han, will you get out of me? I'm bleeding," she said calmly. "I think my finger is sprained."

"What?" he asked, blinking, confused.

He spotted her cradling her finger, suddenly, and the blood dripping on the sofa, and straightened up, stumbling back. Leia winced and sucked in her breath, her senses heightened, and the withdrawal too rough. He muttered an apology, anxiety written on his face.

Leia straightened, too, her open robe fluttering around her thighs, wrinkled. Han was hastily hooking his trousers closed, leaving the belt hanging loose. He stepped forward, and she showed him her finger.

"Fuck," he swore, eyes going wide. "How'd that - ?"

"It got caught, and that last thrust – "

"I did this?"

"—sort of ripped the nail loose – "

"Kriff, it's bleeding a lot – "

"I think the joint might be sprained," Leia said, grimacing – it was hard to flex the finger –

"And you didn't come?" Han asked, offended.

She looked up at him, and then burst out laughing.

"I was going to, if it makes you feel better," she soothed with a snort.

Han ran a hand over his jaw and leaned against the sofa, puling her hand closer. He took some of the material of her robe and wrapped it around her wrist to stem the bleeding. He blinked a few times, and then looked at her warily.

"Leia," he said slowly, noting how quickly the circulation in her finger was starting to look worrisome, and there was a blooming blueish spot near one of the crooks. "I think it's broken."

She lifted her shoulders in a shrug, sighing. She arched her brows.

"Well, if it is," she said mildly, "I can't wait until Jan asks me how I broke my finger."

- alexandra

story #382