.

Romantic

His eyes drifted open, and then closed again, his vision hazy and obscured by eyelashes, and the blurriness of sweat, salty and stinging. Relaxed, just over the peak of a white-knuckled climax, he let his head hang back against the cushions of the sofa, his hands still curved reverently around Leia's hips.

She moved, sliding forward in the saddle of his hips, and his jaw tightened, and then relaxed, a gruff sigh escaping his lips. He was hyper focused on her, loathe to open his eyes, lift his head and break the spell. Her head, bowed against his shoulder, rested on him heavily, and proudly – her lips pressed again and again against his collarbone, neck, and shoulder, trembling, sated kisses; her fingers worked through his hair in an intoxicating massage, somehow, some way, stirring his lust all over again.

He slid his palms around to her back, pressing her hips down and forward, anchoring her to him even in the afterglow. He swallowed hard, reveling in the warmth of her on top of him, caught up, still, in the tight embrace of her body – his mouth moved in a raw, soundless swear; he could still feel the flutters inside her, and he held her close.

There was something so – primal – about moments like these; the heady rush that struck when a benign, subtle graze of palm against cheek evolved into something fast, rough, and spontaneous, a vigorous and unexpected – but deliciously welcome – fuck on the couch, a half-clothed, breathtaking, abrupt start, and a finish like fireworks –

The most mouth-watering part about it was that this was akin to a spark, a flare before a flame – the loud, urgent, exhilarating pleasure of a quickie in their living room was always, always destined to spiral into a nightlong slow-burning intensity –

Leia murmured against his skin, her lips rising up his neck, shifting forward again slowly, slowly. She ignored the ache of protest between her legs, her body telling her it was time to ease away from him, take a breath – fuck off, she swore at herself flippantly – I want him inside me even when it's over –

"Mmm," she murmured, her voice humming under his skin. "You feel so good," she whispered, her mouth hot against his jaw, tongue and teeth slipping against his ear.

He turned his head a little, finally lifting it to catch her eye. He held her gaze for a moment, and then lifted his head more and kissed her jaw, sitting forward to kiss her lips. She buried her fingers deeper in his hair, parting her lips, catching her breath against his mouth.

Over her shoulder, the Holo shimmered, muted, abandoned in pursuit of lust. Han closed his eyes momentarily, and buried his face in her neck, taking a deep breath.

"You feel good," he drawled, his words muffled.

He sighed, groaned softly into her skin – thinking about it was getting him hot all over again – as if he'd ever cooled – thinking about her hands on his shoulders, her hands braced against the couch behind him, the rough thrust of her hips, perfect, tempting curve of her mouth as she held his gaze and rode him, twitch of her lashes when she'd made him come – the way a smirk of triumph had flashed across her face before she closed her own eyes and threw her head back and crashed into her own climax.

"So…fucking good," he growled.

She swallowed hard, tightening her muscles, from her abdomen, to her groin, slow and purposeful, her lips at his ear again, lashes brushing his temple –

"If I…do this, keep doing this," she murmured – tighten of her muscles – "I think…I can feel you get hard again," she kissed his jaw, "inside me."

Han swallowed hard, giving a short, husky laugh – half of him thought it would work like a charm; half of him thought it might hurt her to try –

"Want to take this to bed?" he suggested instead.

Leia kissed his jaw again. She shook her head, stroking his hair still, pressing closer.

"I don't want to move," she whispered – she was content to stay on him, have him in her where he belonged, until the physical realities made it too uncomfortable to bear -

"That good?" he asked, squeezing her hip possessively.

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat for a moment.

"That good," she repeated, licking her lips – "and I don't want to make a mess," she teased softly – her teeth scraped his ear again, and he closed his eyes, slipping his hand down to her thigh, to the wetness where their thighs met.

She heard a soft growl in the back of his throat, and she bit her lip, pressing her face into his hair with a smile.

"And here I thought you were bein' romantic," Han mumbled.

Her fingers tangled in his hair tightly, holding his temple against her lips with ownership, lust; with an aggressive tenderness –

"You feel," she said again, her voice low, and beautiful, "so good."

And Han let his head fall back again, and tasted sweat and salt on her lips when she kissed him, and pressed his hand reverently against her thigh.

- alexandra