a/n: almost 100 stories later, i am back with a companion piece to "Perception" (published 2016!). i had always wanted to do this. back when that was published, a few people asked for a fic detailing han and leia interacting after leia found out - but the plan was always to present this part of the story. i hope you enjoy! (you def need to have read Perception).

Reality

Han sat rigidly, his eyes glued to the scuffed grey wall of his bunk. He rested his arm stiffly over his knee, one leg raised, one stretched out at an uncomfortable angle, wrinkled, unwashed sheets pooled between his legs. He tried, with a vague sense of disbelief, to remember the last time he had been left so high and dry.

His shoulders hunched, and he lifted his fist, running his knuckles hard over his burning forehead. He was sure his face was red, hot with anger – anger that was really nothing more than outright humiliation, because what the fuck was wrong with him, what was he thinking?

How fast was this going to get around the base? Would she talk – would she hear about it?

He'd never – he'd forgotten someone's name in bed once, maybe twice; no hurt feelings over that in a one-night-stand world, but to call a woman by someone else's –? He ran his knuckles harder into his temple, frustrated. He felt like a fucking asshole, and he was so distracted by everything that led to this moment that he wasn't sure he felt like an asshole for the right reasons.

He shoved his hand through his hair and then lowered his head further, banging his chin once, twice, against his knees. His teeth clicked together hard and he bit his tongue. He sat frozen for a moment, then violently untangled himself from the sheets and got up.

Naked, barefoot, he stumbled across the cabin to the 'fresher and flicked on the light, leaning forward on the sink. He looked at his reflection – skin still all flushed, jaw tight, a muscle throbbing in his template. Pent up, unspent, pissed off and unsatisfied, he grimaced, closing his eyes.

His ears echoed; with the smack of Bel's hand against his cheek, the pitch of her voice in his ear – What the fuck did you just call me? – he cringed, feeling the echo of her knee in his groin, her elbow in his chest.

Mistakes he'd made in his life, sure, yeah, but he didn't think he'd ever made a woman cry between the sheets, and that was a point of pride, so this…

"Fuck," he muttered, turning on the faucet.

He splashed cold water on his face.

Why the hell had he let his mind wander to…to Leia, anyway?

He splashed water on his face again, ice cold water, his cheeks and neck still burning, because a little voice in the back of his mind was gloating, taunting him – because you can't keep it up unless you do!

Thinking was one thing, but saying it out loud?

Han slammed the faucet off angrily, looking back up at his reflection – hard eye contact with himself. The shock of Bel storming out was wearing off, eclipsed by how lost he'd been in what he really wanted, the fantasy conjured behind tightly closed eyes – and he was still fucking thinking about Leia, still envisioning her, when he should be punishing himself, or running after Bel.

No; no running after her. He was never leaving the Falcon again, not with that story spreading around Echo Base like wildfire – would she tell? Or was it just as humiliating for her?

He sucked his breath in and grit his teeth, glanced down. This wasn't going away; he hadn't wrecked the mood enough, probably because his state of arousal had nothing to do with Bel, the flesh and blood woman who had actually been in his bed.

He jerked around and turned on the 'fresher, real water, stepping under a freezing spray. And he stood there, for a minute or two, waiting for it to work, but his mind was going wild thinking of Leia, and of saying Leia, of Bel's face, of Bel clawing her way out from under him because he'd said Leia, his mind, circling back and back to Leia –

Han flicked the water from cold to hot, resigned, and leaned back against the wall, tilting his head back. He slid his hand down to his groin, and he closed his eyes again, and because he was already damned and couldn't seem to stop himself, he thought about Leia.

He thought about having Leia, really having her, not some dream, not some other woman; he stroked himself, firm, then soft, again, again, until it wasn't his hand anymore; it was Leia. Leia, wet and tight and warm around his cock, Leia in his bed, the tase of her on his tongue.

Leia, Leia, Leia – here, under the hot water, the drowning sound of it, he could say her name, just to himself, while he imagined holding her up in this 'fresher, pressing his mouth against her neck, kissing water from her throat and shoulders. He imagined her everywhere on the Falcon; bent over the Dejarik table, his hands wrapped right around her hips, buried inside her. On his lap in the cockpit, her hips rolling over his, is hands tangled in her hair – under him in the bunk, on top of him in the bunk – back in the 'fresher.

He couldn't think about anything else. He shut the rest of the day in the back of his mind and he poured himself into the fantasy, his muscles tightening, his breath going ragged – and it wasn't just sex he imagined, it was everything; it was running is hands over every inch of her, touching her, just touching her for hours, holding her; he imagined the way he'd make her pant and moan and dig her nails into him and say his name until she came –

"Leia," he muttered to himself, gritting his teeth. "Fuck," he growled.

His head cracked back against the 'fresher wall; in the fantasy, he came when she did, and in the spray of water, he came hard enough for his vision to go black and then blurry with stars.

He sucked in his breath a few times roughly, trying to catch it, his shoulders relaxing. He licked his lips, shook his wrist out, and stood there for a moment with water scalding him and his knees weak. He felt lightheaded. This is what he should have been doing in the first place – but he was so, so goddamn tired of this; imagination only went so far, and he was going crazy.

It felt like longer than it was, before he reached forward and slapped off the water. He stepped out, ran a towel over himself until he was dry enough, and went back into the cabin, not looking back at the 'fresher. He threw on the wrinkled, discarded trousers he'd left on the floor earlier, when he'd tumbled into bed with Bel, and he slapped his palms against his face as he stormed out.

He gnashed him teeth, sated physically, but amped up emotionally, stalking through the hall in search of – something, something to fix; there had to be something broken on this ship, something other than his sanity.

There was always something broken –

[Han,] Chewbacca rumbled mildly.

Han jumped a foot backwards, nearly crashing into a control panel. There the Wookiee sat, nursing a massive cup of tea at the Dejarik table, his expression serene. Han stared at him, for a moment thinking again of fucking Leia right there at that table – and then he shook his head slightly, banishing the image.

The look on Chewie's face made him feel…chastised.

He grunted at him.

[I saw Miss Belacqua run out of here,] Chewbacca said. [She was quite upset.]

Han shifted his weight. He grunted at Chewie again, and shrugged jerkily.

"Yeah?" he asked, trying for something between bravado, and nonchalance. He failed miserably at both, and merely sounded panicked. He swallowed hard. "Yeah, well," he tried again, deflated. "She wasn't havin' a real good time," he said sarcastically.

[You were in the middle of intimacies, were you not?] Chewbacca asked blithely. Then, continuing as if this were an entirely normal conversation: [Women usually seem to have a good time with you.]

Han felt a flush creep up his neck.

"Well, thanks, pal," he snapped. He took a few steps. "Don't want to talk about this," he muttered.

[Miss Belacqua was crying,] Chewbacca said sternly. [Did you hurt her?]

Han spun back, and approached the table. He smacked a hand down.

"What? No, I didn't hurt her," he snarled. "You know me better than that, Chewie!"

Chewbacca was unfazed.

[I did not mean physically,] he replied.

Han veered back a little, grimacing. His jaw twitched.

"Yeah," he said, half to himself. "You know, it's really not your business," he added testily. "I can handle my own love – "

[That was not love, and you are in over your head,] Chewbacca interrupted sternly. [Sit down].

"Fuck off, Chewie," Han muttered, pushing away from the table.

Chewbacca let out a warning growl Han had only been subjected to once or twice before, one that had the immediate effect of chilling his spine and somehow forcing him to immediately shuffle his feet around and sit down hard on the other end of the bench from his friend.

He blinked, half shocked at his own reaction, and Chewbacca drew his lips back in a commanding snarl.

[Sit down,] he repeated coolly.

"I'm sittin'!" Han squawked.

He glared at Chewie, scandalized, and Chewbacca held his gaze calmly. The Wookiee took a long, slow sip of his tea, his piercing stare never wavering. Han resisted the urge to physically squirm under the scrutiny as Chewie carefully lowered the mug to the table again.

[What happened?] Chewie asked.

Han gnashed his teeth, but something about Chewie's demeanor brooked no more arguing, and Han was exhausted of all this anyway – he wrenched his mouth open and offered the answer –

"I called her Leia," he said, chin jutting out defiantly, daring Chewie to laugh.

Chewie made a humming noise in his throat. Han drummed his fingers on the table hard.

"We were in the middle of," Han stopped. "I was with her and I," he broke off again. "I called her 'Leia' while we were having sex."

[Yes, I understood], Chewbacca said flatly. [I also heard].

"Great," Han said, deadpan. "Good talk."

He started to get up, and Chewbacca gave him a warning look. He sat back down, and slouched.

[Han,] Chewie began carefully. [Cub,] he started again, gentler. His large brows furrowed. [You have not brought a woman back to your cabin in a long time,] he noted. [I thought…it was because you had interest in the Princess.]

Han clenched his jaw. He didn't say anything. He was…uncomfortable with Chewbacca's assessment, or his confusion, or whatever the Wookiee was trying to parse out right now.

[I am talking to you,] Chewie growled.

"Didn't hear a question," Han muttered.

[Was I wrong?]

"No."

[Well, then, why did you go to bed with Miss Belacqua?] he asked, rather politely. [Have you lost interest in Princess Leia?]

Han gave him an incredulous look.

"In case you haven't noticed, Chewie, I ain't exactly gettin' anywhere with her!"

Chewbacca shrugged.

[I have noticed you do not function right when you are around her,] he said. [I have noticed she makes you self-conscious. You do not seem to know how to make it clear how you feel without also being a bantha's ass], Chewie observed. [And you reek when you are around her].

"I reek?"

[Your pheromones].

"Conversation over," Han snapped, straightening.

[No, it is not,] Chewie growled.

Frustrated, Han leaned forward on his elbows. He grasped at his hair.

"Chewie, she treats me like I'm a joke!" he said, exasperated. "It doesn't matter what I do, Leia's just, she's just – "

[You have done everything but actually tell her how you feel.]

"How much clearer do I have to be?"

[Probably a lot clearer than your usual, when it comes to a woman who is used to a very different style of courtship, and who is dealing with trauma the size of a black hole], Chewbacca said bluntly.

He studied Han for a moment, and then shook his head.

[You should not have brought that woman home,] he said.

"I know that," Han said, his eyes flashing. He let his hands fall flat on the table, defensive.

[Did you even like her?]

Han gnashed his teeth.

"Yeah, I…yeah, Bel's good lookin', she's sweet, I'm tryin' to…I can't just chase," he stammered. He gestured at his chest, then his lap. "I was gettin' blue here, Chewie, a hand don't always cut it!"

He clenched a fist.

"Look, I don't…I'm gettin' frustrated with Leia, and I don't want to lose control and come on to her too strong, or start takin' it out on her, or do anything…she doesn't want, but I'm climbin' the fuckin' walls," he explained desperately. "I needed to get laid, but I can't, I can't – "

Can't perform without thinking about –

Han shook his head violently.

Chewbacca sighed.

[Of course you cannot be aggressive or forcible with the Princess,] he said gently. [I do not believe you would, though I can see your tensions running…high,] he allowed. [But you cannot…this is not good either, using Miss Belacqua? You hurt her feelings. Why? So you do not hurt Leia's? And now you hurt, too? This is not good for you.]

Han held up his hand stiffly.

"I know. I know, Chewie, okay? I'm not…doin' it again."

He put the hand to his forehead, sighed hard.

"How long before she tells the whole base," he mumbled, half to himself.

[Maybe you deserve that].

"Leia doesn't," Han said sharply.

He didn't want…he didn't want Leia to think all he wanted was to sleep with her.

[Miss Belacqua did not, either].

Han looked at Chewie tiredly. He knew that. He hadn't forgotten. He hadn't wanted to hurt Bel, and he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want Leia to find out about it. He didn't want to be condemned to a life of cold showers, raw palms, and sleepless nights until he got her, or got over her.

He…did not know how to navigate a reality where he wanted a woman so badly, body and soul, who appeared to be uninterested in him. It wasn't that he'd never been rejected, but he did usually do pretty well with women. And he'd never come up against a wall like this, a situation in which he was so hung up he lost interest even in casual hook ups.

"What'm I gonna do, Chewie?" he asked haggardly.

Chewie sniffed.

[You have to stop thinking this is going to be easy. I do not think Princess Leia cares about how attractive you are. It does not start there for her, like the other women you have…fall all over you. It starts with her heart,] Chewie said seriously, [She is very scared you are going to hurt it.]

Chewbacca lifted his mug.

[You have to change her perception of you].

Han leaned back heavily, his head aching. He turned his face away, staring at nothing, at blinking lights on the control panels, dusty controls, staring past the archway that led into the humming circuitry bay. He knew the solution to this was not finding a warm body to substitute; he wasn't, and didn't want to become, the type of man who used women that way – and living in a fantasy wasn't going to sustain him forever; he had to get his head on straight, find a better way, make that fantasy a reality.

i think this is my first time ever writing a scene ~like that~ for a man, so here's to hoping it isn't "cringe" (as the kids say). big toast to the male friend i texted asking for certain... realistic verbiage. poor Han, such a mess!

- alexandra

story #408 (Perception was 314)