Peregrination
(n.) a slow, wandering journey; a period of escape and exploration
Coming out of a peaceful, deep slumber, Leia's first conscious awareness was of Han's arm wrapped loosely about her waist as they lie spooned together in his bunk. Though still wrapped in a sleepy haze, his presence brought memories of the evening before flooding back to her.
It had been a good night, and an important one; Han finding her in the lounge truly a godsend. What an immense relief it was to have her sexual inexperience out there between them now, no longer something for her to wonder and worry about, how he would react and if it would change the way he thought of her.
Leia fondly recalled Han's effortless, sincere commitment to her resolve for a slow foray into exploring intimacy. But it was remembering when they first went to bed together early this morning that had her smiling even as she continued to fully awaken….
"You were right; this is cozy, Han." Lying in his brushed flannel bantha wool sheets — a luxury he'd indulged in against the frigid temperatures of Hoth — Leia felt really and truly warm, in every sense of the word. "Thank you, I'm so much warmer in here," she told him around a yawn as he settled into the bunk beside her, giving her such a wide birth that she was fairly certain a portion of his knee must be hanging off the bed.
She had been afraid revealing her virginity to Han would make him see her differently. Maybe it had and maybe it hadn't; everything between them was still so new, with boundaries blurred but still present, that he very well may have treated her the same way had that conversation not taken place. Regardless, it was impossible to be irritated with him, despite the overly vigilant way he was acting.
Han being so meticulously careful that no parts of their bodies brushed beneath the covers, giving her as much room as physically possible, dropping her hand like fire and not so much as touching her from the moment they stepped over the threshold into his room — all despite having previously shared a bed countless times — was ridiculous, but he was so unintentionally adorable about it, so uncharacteristically cautious that she knew he must be trying his very hardest not to give the impression he was seeking sex, and that knowledge melted her too much to be annoyed with his needless behavior change.
"Sweetheart…" she heard him say from beside her. "Can — can I come closer?" His tone wasn't only that of asking permission but as if he was afraid of asking, of what her reaction to that might be.
"Yes," she smiled, melting all the more over his sweet concern that such a gentle request might be perceived as overstepping. And smiling a bit, too, to think of all the lectures they had individually endured from High Command before hotel stays alone on various missions; Command obviously had no clue the sort of man Han truly was, or the respect with which he held her in.
"I promise I'm not tryin' anything," he assured her, unnecessarily; the very idea hadn't even entered her mind. "Just thought it would be nice to hold you."
"That would be nice," she answered softly, her heart in her throat as she snuggled into his side and he tentatively placed his arm over her back.
Leia reached down for Han's arm now, wrapping it more closely around her, thinking herself a fool for not having slept in here with him the whole time. She had been initially nervous over the slippery-slope potential of sharing his bed now that they were involved, but that anxiety instantly faded discovering it was no different than lying beside him before: the same safety, warmth, and comfort, only now with an even deeper closeness, knowing that feelings were indeed shared; able to revel in their affectionate connection rather than try to ignore it; free to drift off to sleep in a tender embrace without making any excuses.
"Mornin', Princess," Han drawled, soft and husky near her ear, drawing her from her musing and sending a shiver of pleasure skittering through her. His fingers skimmed over her hipbone in response, his lips pressing the tiniest of kisses to her ear. His other hand was already busy on her pillow, playing amongst the abundant pile of her hair gathered up above her head during the night to allow him to cuddle in closer.
"Mm, morning," Leia echoed, stretching languidly with the faintest little pleasant squeal as the kinks worked out of her muscles.
Nothing more was said for a little while. They just lay there contently while Han wound her hair over his wrist and into his hand where he worked at the ends, twirling and rubbing it between his fingers and generally luxuriating in its softness, in the privilege of being the only man who had ever gotten to enjoy it this way.
It was Leia who eventually broke the agreeable silence with a murmured sigh as she reached for his hand at her waist to link their fingers together. "Maybe the Empire really did hit us back in the asteroid field. Maybe this is heaven."
"Nah, think there'd be less clothes in heaven. Least in my heaven."
She giggled sleepily at that. "You are an absolute reprobate, Han."
"But you're crazy about me," he averred, bending to nuzzle her neck.
"I am," Leia admitted.
She turned her head on the pillow to look over her shoulder at him, and when their eyes met, Han smiled serenely. Lost in the depths of his hazel irises — more green than brown at the moment — she was able to pinpoint the very second, half a breath later, when a thought occurred to him. Leia could almost see it, like in a holocartoon where a glowrod suddenly illuminated above someone's head.
"Let's stay in bed," Han exclaimed inspiredly. "All day."
"What?" she laughed, that particular suggestion taking her by surprise.
"Why not? We've got nowhere to go, nothin' we gotta do. Repairs can wait," he reasoned. "Eventually we'll run out of those, anyway. For once, Leia, let yourself be lazy. Just lounge around with me."
"That sounds…"
A tiny crease appeared between her eyebrows as her ready responses — There's too much to be done; There's a war to be won; We have to save the galaxy, or no one else will — died on her tongue. None of them currently applied while floating uselessly through the Anoat system, and in their absence, she was happily astonished to discover that being lazy for once was exceedingly appealing.
"…wonderful. Lounging around with you sounds wonderful."
She rolled over onto her opposite side so they were face to face — front to front…lying in his bunk like a million fantasies come to fruition — and Leia was hit with a scintillating flash of intense wanting. She sensed the same radiating off Han, and it was equal parts pull to satisfy that want and warning bells signaling DANGER, DANGER.
"But not here. Not like this," she resolved, her inner alarms having won out. She was saved the trouble of further explanation when interrupted by the loud growl of her stomach. "And there's that; I am hungry. Is that all right?"
"Alright? Leia Organa voluntarily taking food breaks — then spending the day loafing? I'm rubbing off on you already."
There was a spark in both sets of eyes at his unintentional but deeply felt double entendre, but Han didn't make any jokes or say anything off-color. He had read the hesitation in her a moment ago, saw misgivings replace desire on her face, so instead he jumped harmlessly ahead with, "And all I gotta do to experience this is take you to another room and feed you?"
"A cup of caf and the fresher first, too, please."
"Deal," he readily agreed. "How 'bout, while you're in the fresher, I fix some jogan fruit hotcakes and a slice of last night's spiceloaf? Then while you're eating, I'll have my turn in the shower. Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"No braids today. Leave it down. For me."
"All right," she smiled, setting her forehead to his and letting her eyes fall closed as she breathed him in.
Han brought his hand up to tenderly cup the side of her face, his long fingers burrowing into the hair near her temple. "Can I have two things?" he tried his luck.
"Maybe even three or four." He was being so endearingly, Leia suspected she would give him nearly anything.
"Can I brush your hair?"
That brought her eyes open. She propped herself up on her elbow, where she leaned over him in confusion. Several of her silken strands fell down over his neck, and Han thought she must be right about this being heaven.
"You want to brush my hair?" Leia repeated as if she doubted she had heard him correctly.
He nodded, unabashed, doubling down. "Touch it, brush it, feel it all over my skin."
"That one's easy; just don't wear a shirt to bed tonight."
"You gonna use me as your pillow, Princess?"
"I just might."
She bent down, giving reign to an urge to kiss him, but there was a stronger instinct of self-protection that warned such a move could quickly spiral out of control, and it left Leia pulling back instead, climbing over him and out of the bunk.
More in her element vertically, safely distanced from the temptation of his warm bed and mussy-haired, early-morning Han, Leia felt only cheerful exuberance when she turned back to face him. "Meet me in the lounge in twenty. You bring the food; I'll bring the hairbrush."
On the evening of their day of being lazy, Han had another unconventional but inspiring idea.
It wasn't that they hadn't enjoyed their day. They had, immensely. But the Falcon was only so big, and was also housing a Wookie and an overly loquacious droid who couldn't take a hint if you literally handed it to him.
What Han wanted for the rest of their night was a place where they could be alone — utterly and thoroughly. Preferably, a place where no one could find them; it had only been a week, but he was already at his wits' end with the interruptions. So while Chewie made the night's meal, the ship's captain busied himself preparing Leia an after-dinner surprise.
And it certainly was a surprise.
When Han told her back in the galley that he wanted to show her something, the last thing Leia expected was to be tossed down into one of the smuggling compartments. The ring corridor's concealed cavities had famously hidden Han, Chewie, Luke, and Obi-Wan Kenobi from stormtroopers while on the Death Star, and she herself even had occasion to hide there once while on an undercover mission where Han had been unable to keep inspectors off the ship.
Back then, however, the clandestine compartments had looked nothing like this.
Han had obviously been hard at work transforming this particular space from sparse and utilitarian to a warm and welcoming little hideaway. Large enough to comfortably hold two men and a Wookiee, the smuggling nook he had chosen was roughly the size of one of her smaller closets back on Coruscant, with plenty of room for the two of them to stand together within it. But the plan clearly was for them to recline and relax on the floor, as Han had brought down an array of pillows and blankets, piling and arranging them into a cozy nest where they could comfortably stretch out.
In the center of their nest was, apparently, dessert: an obligatory bottle of alcohol, a plate full of warra nut cookies, some choclime twists, and the last sweesonberry roll. He had even fetched a small glowlamp to softly light the space, adding to the romantic ambience.
More than anything, this little haven — with Han stealthily replacing the ceiling tile, leaving no evidence they had sought sanctuary within — screamed 'privacy'. The promise of no interruptions. A space for only them, where no one would come looking, where they could talk, kiss, and just be together, freely now, with no walls between them. A quiet space where they could simply revel in each other.
Han had never imagined using one of the Falcon's smuggling compartments for this purpose, but settled amongst the pillows and throws with Leia's legs resting across his lap as he massaged her calves, he had to admit his imagination wasn't nearly as far-reaching as he'd once sworn to the kid — because this easily surpassed anything he'd ever had the temerity to hope.
Eventually in his passes over her legs, he began to work up the edges of her pants — his pants, since she was in a borrowed pair — to feel the soft skin of her ankle and shin. His fingers progressively glided up and over, inching the fabric higher and higher, until he finally gave up on subtlety altogether and just pushed the too-big pants up to her knees.
As he stroked the length of one bared leg — once, twice; up and down — then the other — down and back up — his touch set off currents of yearning in her. The latest pass had his fingers delving beneath the hem again to rub over her kneecap, and all at once she saw what a needless impediment the pants were becoming.
"I could just take them off?" Leia offered. Her tone was all affectionate amusement, laced with what sounded like anticipation, and Han looked to her sharply, attention once focused on her legs now absorbed with trying to read her face. "It — even without them, your shirt is like a dress on me. A short one, anyway. It wouldn't be scandalous."
She'd added that last part, he was sure, to ease her own misgivings; he certainly had none, and knew that she knew it. "Course not," Han agreed. "Go for it." He was trying to be casual but came off sounding hopeful enough for him to figure it warranted a little justification of his own. "Y'know, if you want."
Leia looked at him only a second more before withdrawing her legs from his lap to stand up. He watched her fixedly as she unfastened and began to ease off his pants. Despite knowing it was all fairly innocent, that didn't stop the blood from pooling hot in his groin at the sight.
And, indeed, she didn't reveal anything as his shirt quickly dropped down into place like the skirt of a dress, just as she'd said. Still, there was something about her wearing his shirt and nothing else that had a powerfully suggestive quality. Leia sat down near him, sliding her now fully-bare legs back across his thighs, and that was all it took to instantly reduce him to utter distraction.
Conversation fell off as Han became engrossed in stroking her legs from ankle to the mid-thigh hem of his shirt, up and over the smoothest skin he'd ever felt, addictive in its softness. He tried — he really did — to stick to her outer leg and thigh, but his touch increasingly skirted toward the inner.
After a quiet spell of tender, heated caresses, it was Leia who broke the silence. "This feels like that weekend on Wroona last year." She didn't ask if he remembered; she knew there was no way he couldn't.
"Which part? Sharing a bottle of Corellian whiskey?" Han mused, reaching down for it on the blankets and passing it over to her.
"That," she concurred, "and hiding together in a small space…." She uncorked the bottle of Whyren's Reserve and took a generous drink, a sigh of "Mmm" vibrating from her lips. All these years later, the delectable woody spice of it continued to delight her tongue, still surprising her anew at how good it truly was. Recorking it, she observed, "This doesn't have nearly the view, though."
"I don't know. View's pretty good for me," he smirked, cocking his chin down toward her naked legs draped over his lap, lusciously close to his crotch.
Leia smiled into a laugh, her eyes falling closed in a mixture of enjoying the current moment and the exciting memory they were discussing. "That weekend…." She let her head drop back against the wall of the compartment, her nerf-wool covered toes curling into Han's thigh. "Oh, how I wanted to—"
"Jump my bones?" he interposed, waggishly helpful. "That's what I wanted to do to you."
"I wanted to…'jump you'," she adopted his phrase, "on the second day — well, that night." A grin overtook her at the corresponding thrill tripping through to her core at just its mention.
"Yeah." Han tipped his head in lustful acknowledgement, his jaw working at the remembered sensations. "That night," he reiterated, low and seductive.
Leia gave a throaty laugh. "I wanted you that night, Han, I definitely did. But the third night, that night, what I wanted was…."
To be able to keep him forever. For it to be all right — reciprocated and secure — for her to be in love with him. To have everything in the galaxy feel as good as it felt in his arms; then there would be no war, only happiness and pleasure…and perhaps a population explosion.
Not ready to admit that, she settled on, "Well, you know how strongly my 'Join the Alliance' pitch started up again after that."
"You wanted me to stay with you," Han correctly guessed. "Sweetheart, waking up with you in my arms…." He shook his head at the sheer power of the recalled feelings, such a depth of tenderness and love he was still unable to put into words but had experienced again this very morning. "Wasn't nothin' I wanted more than to stay there with you. Preferably not fighting for our lives, but even that didn't put much of a damper on it."
"No, it didn't," she agreed, passing him back their Whyren's. He took a drink himself before resealing the bottle and balancing it to stand on its own in their nest of blankets, freeing his hands up to touch her again. Each soothing stroke over her skin seemed to ease something inside her, some remaining wall that was gradually crumbling, and she found herself saying, "That was the night I first told you about Winter…."
It had been difficult, almost unbearably painful, to speak again of her lost best friend and near sister. Although, no; it wasn't the speaking so much as the speaking in past tense that had cut to her very soul. But it had been cathartic too; letting herself feel those memories again, taste them and try them out. Discovering she was healed enough now to be able to mine the happiness from them. Gaining the gift of the ability to look back in love and appreciation on times shared, rather than exclusively be inundated with the overwhelming sense of loss in them. Of course that she had opened up to these memories with Han had certainly helped; that she felt safe with him, cared for by him. His measured questions and leading responses had comforted and eased her into some sense of closure and a capacity to find the happy amidst the sad, to cling to the preciousness of all that past joy over the agonizing devastation.
Leia smiled as she recalled his gentle proposal at the time. "I don't think any of the Rogues would believe that when you offered to be my new confidante you did it without even a hint of innuendo. You were actually very sweet."
"Hm," Han grunted as he continued to stroke her legs, "doesn't sound like me."
"Yes, it does." Reaching down, she caught his hand. "The real you." Tenderly twining their fingers against her shin, she dared to add, "The one you let me see."
She half expected him to deny it but he didn't, only lifted their joined hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, and then again to the back of her hand.
"It was nice talking about Winter again," Leia admitted. "Talking about her at all, really, but also sharing that part of my life with you."
Han smiled, squeezing her hand, but made no further, verbal response. He wanted to give her the space to freely express herself, knowing it was good to get it all out and wanting to do nothing to hinder that flow.
Leia, however, simply saw his contentment to let her share, which both was and wasn't good. It was nice — crucial, even — that he wanted to listen and connect with her that way, but she couldn't be the only one bearing her soul.
In a preemptive attempt to set his caginess at ease and undercut the gravity of the request she was about to make, Leia reached for the sweesonberry roll, ripping it in two and handing him half as she asked, "Tell me something about when you were young."
"You don't want to hear about that," Han baulked, finishing off half of his half in one bite. Her stories were lovely recollections of a happy, nurturing childhood and adolescence. His troubled youth would only sound twice as seedy in comparison. "Ain't nothing good to tell about back then."
"Nothing at all?" she gently pressed, biting into her roll in an infinitely more dainty fashion that unwittingly doubled down on Han's misgivings.
Leaning into him, she softly ran her free hand over his cheek and down his neck, hoping her touch and tone would soothe him through the triggering topics she was about to introduce — things that were tantamount to Han's Alderaan. "What about your mother?"
"Nah." He immediately shook his head. "There's nothin' to tell."
Leia nodded, but there was a careful distinction in her words. "Nothing you want to tell." Yet her voice was empathetic as she continued, "I understand. I know how difficult it can be to share something like that with—"
"It ain't that, Sweetheart," Han stressed. "I'd share it with you, just don't think there's nothing left to say that you don't already know. I was young when she died. Most of the time I had with her was spent in years before you can remember. What's left is more a…" He shook his head again. "….a feeling of her, not something you can tell."
He seemed wary of her response to that, of her belief in that, but Leia truly did understand. In fact, she appreciated that statement in a deep-down way she had never told anyone. For sometimes in rare moments, in some way she herself couldn't fathom — as, from what she had been told, she was only a babe mere seconds old at the time of their separation — somehow she seemed to possess a sort of sense memory of her birth mother.
"Well, what about Dewlanna?" she suggested instead. "Tell me a story of her."
Han thought for a moment, but came up similarly empty on any one specific tale to relate. "Can't say there's too much to tell there, either. She taught me Shryiiwook; you already know that. Taught me first aid and how to use a medkit: bacta patches, bone-knitters, synthflesh, the works. She taught me the basics of cooking so I wouldn't starve. Most things with Dewlanna were everyday stuff like that, nothing exciting."
"If there's nothing 'good' to tell, then tell me something bad. Tell me something, Han," Leia reiterated, trying not to let frustration seep into her voice. "Tell me something you've never told anyone."
That got to the heart of it; more than gaining any particular new knowledge of him, what she really wanted was further connection, further building on a familiarity and intimacy exclusive to them. That was something he could certainly give her.
"Alright, I'll tell you something I've never told anyone…" He mulled it over, his eyes suddenly lighting up, and she knew he had found the story. "I'll tell you something bad that turned into something good."
"All right," she echoed playfully, finishing the last of her sweesonberry roll, "tell me, I can't wait to hear it." She actually was excited to listen. Simply to have him share another piece of his closely guarded past was enough in itself, and judging by Han's rare but colorful tales it was sure to be interesting. "What's your idea of both bad and good? And how did —"
Leia cut off abruptly, her brow crinkling, as she noticed a large smudge of icing left behind on the top of her finger. "How did one turn into the other?" she finished, sucking her finger clean of the glaze without a second thought. She only considered the act — and its lewd implications — once she looked up from double checking her now-clean finger to discover Han watching her raptly, the spark of desire unmistakable in his eyes.
Clearly, watching that had been a turn-on for him. It was quickly becoming an inadvertent one for her, too. Though she hadn't been attempting to bait him, hadn't intended to be sexy at all, the look he was giving her now, after having witnessed it, was so smoldering Leia was left pleasantly flustered. Her cheeks flushed hotly in an attractive blush and she closed her eyes with a smile, riding the wave of feeling.
Finding herself engulfed in a sudden spike of visceral sexual wanting for Han was nothing new. She'd been dealing with that for years; it had often been the catalyst of some of her more brutal arguments with him. What was new was no longer needing to tamp down that wanting. Being able to own it, to welcome and savor the sensations he awakened in her…and maybe even do something about them…still felt revolutionary to Leia, in the very best of ways.
Opening slightly dazed eyes to him, she asked coyly, "I'm sorry, what was I saying?"
"You wanted to know my idea of good and bad," Han supplied distractedly, "but never mind about that." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping a register. "I got some of that frosting on me, Sweetheart. You gonna help me out with it?"
He offered up his forefinger, the very one that had so frequently been pointed at her in moments of heated anger. But this was a whole different kind of heat, one she found herself suddenly very keen to indulge. Looking from his eyes to his finger and back to his eyes again, she held his gaze as she bent and slowly licked up the length of his finger. She left the tip of it to rest a moment on the soft warmth of her lower lip, and then she took it between them.
The hot wetness of her mouth surrounding him, the pressing pull of suction, and her velvet tongue curling around his finger as she sucked him clean of the barest hint of sweet icing lingering on his skin combined to nearly overwhelm Han.
"God, Leia," spilled from his lips, more a husky stilted gasp than actual words. He reached for her, wanted nothing more in the galaxy than to kiss her — devour her — but she dodged away.
"Mm-mm, Flyboy," she denied him with a smirk. "There will be none of that. Yet. You were telling me a story."
Rebuffed though he was, there was no ache of denial in it; Leia's playful, teasing enticement was nearly as gratifying as her mouth on his would have been. "Fine," he assented with an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh. "Anything Her Worship wants Her Worship gets. I'll give you your story. But first, I need you to give me a kiss to tide me over…Just a little one," he cajoled, all pitten-eyed and sweetly beseeching.
She knew his overblown inveigling was all a part of their game — put-on for her, likely with the intention of making her laugh — but it actually worked to great effect, making her want to give him anything he asked. "You can have a kiss," Leia easily relented. Moving in closer, she murmured a tantalizing warning a mere breath away from his lips. "But with closed mouths and hands to yourself. I'm getting that story out of you before you use your charms to distract me."
"You were…" Han kissed her. "…using yours…" Another kiss. "…to distract me…" And another. "…so…" A longer kiss. "…turnabout…is…fair play," he finished between nibbles of her lips.
Just when he had her reaching for him, ready to forget the story entirely, he abruptly pulled back. Leia's eyes flew open in frustration.
"Now where was I?" he calmly inquired. "Oh yeah, my good and bad story."
She narrowed her eyes at him, biting back a smile. "You're a wicked man, Han Solo…."
He gestured toward himself innocently. "I'm sorry, did you not want to hear it? 'Cos we can go back to just sharing the whiskey," he offered, brows disingenuously raised over eyes awash in amusement, even as he made a show of looking around the blanket for where they'd left the bottle.
"Not on your life, Hotshot," she commanded, turning his chin back to face her. "There's no way you're getting out of telling the story now."
Han grinned. "Alright, strap in, then."
It was Leia's turn to make a show, one of getting comfortable, as she stretched her legs out further across him — in the process, unintentionally ghosting a creamy bare leg over his groin, eliciting a low groan from Han.
"Okay, I'm ready," she announced.
"Yeah, so am I."
He reached for her, and now she was the one to pull back.
"Ah-ah, your story," she chided.
"And who's the wicked one here?" Han glibly grumbled before giving in and divulging, "It was during the time I was working for Shrike. That son of a bitch had a real power trip. Used to wear this ridiculous outfit he made up for himself, tryin' to look like a Moff, tryin' to act like he was big shit when really he wasn't no more than the rest of us. Just outcast, criminal, bantha fodder from the same Blue Sector Coronetti slums."
Gone was the playfulness of moments before; though he tried to mask it, Leia could tell Han was becoming increasingly agitated as he spoke, as he recalled the man who had terrorized him in his youth. She took advantage of their continued nearness to reclaim a hold on his hand.
"I'd just turned thirteen," he went on, and she began softly playing at his fingers, hoping her touch would both calm and encourage him to keep going. "Gettin' to be one of the older ones in the group. Most kids ran away by the time they made it to fifteen, sixteen at the most. Ran away or died trying," he amended acidly. "Shrike wasn't exactly keen on lettin' all that training go to waste."
When Han saw what looked suspiciously like horror in Leia's eyes, he averted his and hurried on with, "Anyway, we were on Broest, takin' a break from our regular Treasure Ship Row beat 'cos the SAC was having its annual ruica festival. Lots of people packed in, looking to blow off some steam, spend a pile of credits. Too absorbed in the rides and games and food stands to pay attention to their surroundings, 'specially some punk kid. A whole gang of 'em could bring in a pretty sum on an afternoon like that. And you better believe we were expected to."
Leia had said nothing before, not wanting to interrupt now that she had him talking, but at this she bristled. "I realize the man was unscrupulous, but how could he have reasonably expected any specific amount when you could never know who or what you would encounter? For instance, what if it rained? What if it wasn't busy that day? What if the festival had to close early? Any of that would be entirely beyond your control."
"Shrike didn't much care what was or wasn't in our control. We all had quotas to make, no exceptions. If we didn't, we'd get our hides tanned. So I was followin' orders, picking pockets," Han recounted. "Anything of value, I'd take, mostly stuff I could pawn. By mid-day, I'd gotten lucky a few times and built up a decent cache of chips and coins. Then —" He lifted his eyebrows in emphasis. "— I hit it big. Managed to swipe a two thousand credit chip off this old broad. Real snooty lookin' thing with a temperament to match, like a female Dodonna."
Leia tried to suppress a laugh at his mockery — no matter how well-deserved — of her fellow Command member and it came out as a little snort instead. Han grinned, running his hand up from her ankle to give her an affectionate squeeze just above the knee.
"Figured I had it made after that," he continued his story. "Figured with a payload that big Shrike wouldn't even mind if I used a bit of my earnings to get myself a fried kaadu and ruica crispic. Course I wasn't gonna tell him about the little detour," he added with a mischievous smirk. "So there I am, heading to the fried crispic stand, takin' the back way over by the row of garbage receptacles just in case Lady Dodonna was missing her credit chip, and I happen upon this kid — couldn't've been more than three or four — picking through one of the trash bins."
"Oh, Han," Leia recoiled, more gut reaction than intended speech. Of all the things she'd seen, all the horrors of war she'd witnessed and violence she'd wrought herself, it was always most difficult to see the suffering of younglings: war orphans and poor, innocent children left behind.
"Yeah, I know," he nodded in grim agreement. "That kinda thing's the worst of it…."
Leia had long been aware that Han felt the same as she did in that regard. She easily perceived it in his interactions with the children they happened upon on various missions in burnt-out villages and slums. But he said nothing further; they both knew there was nothing to say, nothing to ease the atrocities the Empire had wrought. Wasn't that exactly why they were fighting this war?
"And when I call to him," Han picked up the narrative again, "thinking I could spare enough to buy him a crispic, too, the kid starts crying — I mean, wailing bloody murder. I was tall for my age and he was just a little thing; turns out, he thought I was a seccer come to lock him up. When he found out I wasn't, the kid was so relieved the whole story pours out of him: tells me his ma died — not too long ago by the sound of it — and he and his sister are living on the streets now; he hasn't had anything to eat in he can't remember how long — two days, maybe three or four. It gets me to thinkin': Shrike don't need another decoration for his Moff getup, and he sure as hell don't need another blaster or vibroknife to threaten us with. So I gave the credit chip to the kid."
Han simply shrugged as if what he'd just revealed was no big — as if it wasn't an incredibly brave, gallant, and noble thing to do, one that left her nearly speechless. "You didn't," she uttered breathlessly, making good on her earlier statement that she couldn't wait to hear the tale; she was positively hanging on his every word.
Leia's voice was soft as she said it. Her eyes were soft, too, but unreadable. It left Han unable to tell if her exclamation was meant as praise or censure at his folly. "I figured the kid'd make better use of it," he rationalized, "and Shrike would never know I'd ever had it."
"Were you able to make your quota without it, then?" she wondered sympathetically.
"Made my quota and more." Leia watched as darkness, some remembered pain, swept over Han's features. "But somehow, Shrike found out about the credit chip — that bastard had eyes everywhere, I swear — and it led to the worst beating of my life. Till the day I met Chewie," Han adjoined, not as a brag but an afterthought, the beating near to death insignificant and all but forgotten in light of the friend it left him with.
"I won't sugarcoat it: it was bad," he darkly detailed. "It was bad all over, hardly a centim of me that wasn't bruised, but the worst was that Shrike caught me with that damned Devaronian blood-poison ring of his, square in the eye. I couldn't open it for three days, couldn't see out of it even then. Dewlanna was afraid he'd blinded the eye, but my sight came back little-by-little a couple days later. So…that's what happened." Han finished the story and said no more, meeting her eyes squarely and steeling himself for her reaction.
"Han…that's…" Leia hardly knew what to say in the face of such an account, and in her lack of composure the bald truth came tumbling from her lips. "That's horrible."
Her eyes shone brightly with unshed tears, he was certain of disgust, but Han didn't blame her for being rightly put-off by the ugly realities of his sordid upbringing.
"And — wonderful," she finished, her voice breaking, "all at once."
He hardly believed his ears. "What?"
"I said, that's wonderful. What you did was wonderful."
Han could only consider her in guarded — though rapidly increasing — hope.
….Leia wasn't appalled? She wasn't revolted by the dysfunction of the gutters he'd pulled himself up from?
His mind reeled trying to digest this revelation. She ought to be, was the only thing he could think. Yet, she seemed to find beauty in it, where he saw nothing but degradation and shame.
"And you called yourself a mercenary," she tenderly tsked, a beaming smile lighting her face as she shuffled closer until she was all but in his lap. "Han Solo, you are a hero. You always have been, don't you see it? It's in your blood just the same as it's in Luke's."
She grinned with pride and love at the inside joke: how Han loved to annoy Luke about being "the Hero of the Death Star". All I did was show up at the last minute to make sure you didn't get yourself killed. How many times had she heard Han say that? And all the while, through his oft-repeated jabs that were really poorly concealed praise — They raise 'hero' into your blood on those moisture farms, eh, Kid? — Han had that very same 'hero' in him. All along. Every bit as much. Apparently, from childhood.
"That certainly did turn bad into good," Leia gushed. "Why haven't you told me that story before? It might have gotten you kissed a whole lot sooner."
"Yeah?" Han slyly replied, dipping his voice low. "Well, it ain't too late to still earn me—"
Leia evidently agreed, for she'd wrapped her arms around him and pressed her mouth to his before he could even finish.
With a little hum of pleasure and one last glide of her tongue over his, she pulled back to ask, "I don't suppose you ever found out what happened to the little boy?"
"Suppose I did," he crowed; this was a definitely a brag. "That's where the 'good' comes in."
"Giving him the credits wasn't the 'good'?" she asked incredulously. "That, alone, wasn't enough for you? Why you are the hero, aren't you, Captain?" Leia purred, running her fingers through his hair.
"Heroics really get you going, huh, Princess?" Han teased suggestively. "What'll I get if I steal you a whole Star Destroyer?"
"Oh, I think I could manage another public ceremony." He grunted in disappointment she'd anticipated, and she gave a throaty giggle. "And then, maybe afterwards…" She ran her hands down his chest, bringing her lips just shy of his and her voice to a honeyed, heated tone. "…a more private celebration."
The corner of Han's mouth quirked up in intrigue, into that irresistible half-smile of his that made her insides do that melty-quivery thing he alone could cause and answer. "Then I just might have to find you one….But don't go pinning any more medals on me just yet, Sweetheart." He leaned in to steal a quick kiss. "Wait'll you hear the 'good'," Han portended with a reprobate wink.
She rolled her eyes with an affectionate smirk. "All right, Hotshot, what did you do?"
"Why do you make it sound like I must've done somethin'?" he asked, pretending offense.
"Oh, I don't know: your temperament, your own boasts, three years of experience with you," she listed on her fingers. "Take your pick."
"You're a real smartass, you know that, Highness?" Han chuckled. "And this time you're wrong. I didn't do anything; it's what happened to me. Soon as I could see again, Shrike sent me back out to work. Now, it's the last day of the festival, and this time the kid seeks me out. And who should come with him but his much older, much more developed," he put in meaningfully, making a swooping gesture over his chest, "sister. Had to have been somewhere between thirteen and sixteen — it's hard to tell sometimes with girls — which made me feel a lot better about the kid's chances. So she thanks me for helping them out, says she's gonna use the credits to book them passage to Xorth where they have kin. Between the credits and the beating I'd obviously taken for it — didn't hurt that my eye still looked like nerf steak — she's so grateful, she leads me behind that same row of trash receptacles and gives me my very first hand—"
Han abruptly cut himself off, realizing only in the moment that this might not have been the best story to tell her. "—dy," he tried to recover. "Yeah. She was real handy for the kid to have around."
"Mm-hmm," Leia replied knowingly but without any real irritation at the hijinks of Young Han.
"What about you?" he quickly changed the subject. "You got any more stories?"
"Something bad that turned into good, you mean?"
"Sure." He didn't really care what she told him as long as it got her distracted enough not to think too hard about his story — not hard enough to figure out what he himself was just now putting together: that his thirteen-year-old self had unwittingly engaged in a sort of prostitution; he gave out a credit chip and, in turn, received a sexual favor from a nameless girl behind some dumpsters.
"I do have an example of that," Leia pronounced brightly, her thoughts far from Han's self-reproachful ones. "I was a few years younger than you were in your story — and, sorry to disappoint, but this didn't lead to my first 'handy'," she slipped in wittily.
"What did?" he couldn't help asking….you know, as long as they were telling tales.
"I'm still waiting on that one," she disclosed.
Last night, Han had been hesitant to broach what could be a delicate subject, but 'virgin' still left room open for other things. However, this appeared to have answered that question. Going by what she'd just told him, it seemed unlikely that any experience she'd had went much further than kissing. "Well, anytime you're ready, Princess, you got a standing offer."
There was a time such a comment would have prompted a shouting match loud enough to alert the entire base, leading to a fresh round of Kiss or Kill bets and the potential of being lectured, yet again, by High Command. Now though, she took no offense. Any past 'offense' had merely been a product of the suggestion's secret appeal. There was no need for such secrets now, and the very genuine offer was met only with very genuine appeal, even if she wasn't yet ready to take him up on it. "I'll remember that. No, my story is almost sickeningly innocent, but I love it, nonetheless: my story is about Alderaan."
"Then I'm gonna love it," he avowed. "I love the look you get when you talk about Alderaan."
"Do I look a certain way?" she asked, surprised.
"You do," Han nodded. "At first, you didn't talk much about it at all, and when you did, the look you had was just sad and…haunted, kinda look that could tear a guy apart. I hated seeing that look on your face; not being able to do a damn thing to make it better. But now, more and more, when you talk about something or someone, or just the land or your home back on Alderaan, you get this sort of serene look, like someone thinkin' back on a really good dream — only this dream was real, and you lived it and you loved it. Makes me happy that you can feel happy about that again."
His words set off fresh tears in her eyes, and Leia reached up to cup his cheek in her hand. "That makes me happy, too," she whispered, kissing him tenderly.
Han held her closer but he broke the kiss to say, "Aw, come on now, Amant, don't let me distract you. Tell me your story of Alderaan. I want to hear it."
"Amant?" she questioned.
"Sweetheart, in Olys," he shrugged.
"I like that. That earned you the story," she beamed, nuzzling her nose against his. "It all began when my father took me on one of our trips into the mountains. We would hike and then ski back down; it was a beloved pastime of ours. Walking amongst the tall blooming gingerbells at the base of the Triplehorns, with the sweet scent from the nearby t'iil meadow carrying on the air, never got old. 'Picturesque' was an understatement there, but it wasn't the scenery that captured our attention that day. You see, I'd scampered ahead of my father, as usual, and just beneath the snowline I happened upon an injured giant thranta. She was huge, even then, but she was little more than an infant. It broke my heart to see her suffering and it broke my father's heart to see mine, so he agreed to let me adopt her and nurse her back to health. I named her Sarna. Father had her brought back home where I could visit her every single day. We had to have a special stable built just to house her. Naturally, she was frightened by it all in the beginning, especially around the others, but I was somehow able to calm her and let her know that she was safe…It was just my presence, I suppose, the one who'd rescued her, but the stablehands marveled at it, took to affectionately calling me the thranta whisperer; it was a title I rather liked. Around my lessons and duties, I always found time to be with Sarna and took a personal hand in the treatment of her wounded tail lobe and wing — with the assistance of the royal vets, because despite what you think, I don't claim to know everything."
"Pretty kriffin' close though, Princess. And rightly so. Ain't hardly a damn thing you don't know. Course if you repeat that to the Rogues, I'll deny I ever said it. Luke, I'll admit it to; suspect he already knows."
Leia laughed softly, adjusting her arms to loop loosely about his neck. "Whatever the reason, Sarna was well again in what seemed like no time. And as she grew, and as we further bonded, my father was wise enough to know what was coming next."
"You wanted to ride her," Han ventured.
"I wanted to ride her," she confirmed with an impish smile. "Now, my mother was very much against the idea of me riding a wild thranta, particularly one who had never been ridden before. My father wasn't in love with the idea either, but he was there the day we first found each other. He said he could feel our connection and knew she would never hurt me — in fact, would do her best to protect me — and, therefore, I would be safer aboard Sarna than any other thranta, wild or tame. He said we were kindred spirits, orphaned and in need of help; that we recognized it in each other."
"So you rode her," he guessed, though it wasn't a guess at all. In his experience nothing, not even the Emperor himself, outstripped the determination of Leia Organa.
"I did. Every day I was on planet, without fail. And I become quite the accomplished rider, if I do say so myself." The memories were staggeringly happy ones that filled Leia with love and gratitude for her lost thranta, for the privilege of such an idyllic childhood, and for the chance to have experienced the peaceful beauty of such a heavenly planet.
"I rode everywhere: about the Castle Lands, through the Glarus Valley, above Aldera and around the Royal Palace. But my very favorite, without question, was Cloudshape Falls. I loved to fly over and beside them," she reminisced, closing her eyes to picture it. "Sarna preferred our flights over the Triplehorn peaks where she was born, but she indulged my love of the Falls — she fed off my excitement, I think. We would swoop down together, close enough to feel the cool spray on our skin."
Han shook his head in veneration, similarly picturing it and awed by what he imagined. "You must've looked somethin' glorious up there; a tiny powerhouse, soarin' over snowcapped mountains in your little white dresses and cinnamon buns."
Leia's gentle, fond laughter pulled him from his reverie to appreciate her in the here and now. "Usually my hair broke free in the wind," she corrected his visualization. "And I didn't only ride as a young girl, you know. Thrantas have a long lifespan. Mine would still be alive now if it weren't for —"
Leia stopped short; she had never grown used to saying it out loud, avoided it altogether if she possibly could. "I still rode her, right up to the end. But not with senatorial robes flapping in the breeze, thank you. I said I was an accomplished rider, and any rider would tell you that to do so in a dress would have been ill-advised. I always rode in a bodysuit."
"Even better," Han enthused. "Fully grown Leia, gliding through the sky in a skintight bodysuit, hair whipping long and free behind you? Must've looked like you were flying naked. You would've looked a goddess up there."
"Father said so," she granted. "Of course, not for the reasons I'm sure you're picturing."
His smirk tilted suggestively and Han skated long, pleasantly rough fingers up and down her bare leg. "You put the picture in my head, so it's your fault."
"We've already established that you're the scoundrel, so any lustful thoughts are your own fault," she shot back archly.
"That so, Worship? And you ain't never had any 'lustful' thoughts of me?" he countered, all cheeky, reprobate charm. "What was Wroona? We just established that, too, Sweetheart."
"You're incorrigible," Leia gasped laughingly as he dipped his face into the crock of her neck to nip at her skin.
"And you're sexy; facts are just facts." He burrowed his mouth down into the open collar of his shirt that was now hers, but seemed to remember himself and lifted his head again. "Back to your thranta: your father agreed you were a goddess up there; that mean he watched you ride a lot?"
"He enjoyed the mountains — perhaps more even than Sarna — so we often went up together, which included riding. He tried to be supportive. Both of my parents did," she stressed, not wishing to do Breha any injustice, "but my mother never truly came around to the idea of me riding, even all those years later."
"Figure you spent most of your time with your dad as you got older, considering your career choice. Were you more like him, then?"
"I don't know that I'd say that…Since I was adopted, there's no genetic reason for me to favor either one of them. But I've always believed nurture to be far more powerful than nature," she added introspectively.
Leia knew nothing of her biological parents — hadn't been told anything of her biological father, only that her biological mother had died shortly after giving birth — and although she bore them no ill-will, she found it impossible to believe that such beings she had never and would never meet could have left more of an impact on her by their simple act of procreation than the mother and father who lovingly raised her.
"It's easier to draw comparisons between my father and myself — what with our both having gone into politics, serving in the Senate, becoming leaders in the Alliance," she further reflected, "but I think my mother contributed a great deal to who I am, as well."
"She certainly did contribute," Han couldn't resist quipping, referring to their conversation the night before and all that Leia had told him about her mother's frank encouragements of erotic explorations.
"Not just the part you like," she admonished amiably. "Though, yes, I suppose that's an important part of who I am. In a larger sense, my mother showed me how to successfully navigate being a powerful woman without succumbing to the stereotypes or relying on a crutch of my femininity. She taught me how to project my intelligence, strength, and authority as qualities independent of my sexuality — while still being free to own my sexuality. That's something my father never could have imparted since it's something men don't have to deal with in the first place. And she instilled plenty of other, non-gender specific qualities: the importance of unencumbered knowledge and education; to act with wisdom; not only to have courage but how to gain it. She had just as much of an impact on who I am," Leia concluded with a decisive nod.
"Well, I like all those parts, too," Han asserted as he brought his mouth to hers. He ran his fingers down a handful of her hair even as he ended the kiss, excited to make what he hoped would be a new revelation to her. "And, Leia, I might even have a surprise for you."
"Oh yeah?" she grinned, fingers playing at his vest.
"A tibanna gas mining colony ain't much like Alderaan...but they do have thrantas in Bespin."
Leia said nothing, didn't move an inch, merely gaped at him in utter shock until she was finally able to string words together again. "You're serious?
"Very," he confirmed with a grin. "Haven't seen it for myself, mind, but that's what they say — and thrantas did show up in the file for Cloud City, so I take that as confirmation."
"I'd heard the species had survived somewhere but I had no idea it's where we're going now. Do you think we'll get to see some while we're there?" she asked with poignantly hopeful eyes that melted his heart faster than a block of ice left out under Tatooine's twin suns.
"If you want to, Sweetheart, I'll make sure of it."
Her eyes gleaming bright, Leia gave him a quick kiss. Then, with an alluring smile and eyes locked on his, she slowly leaned back to lay her spine flat against the floor of the smuggling compartment and crooked her finger at him in a come-hither gesture.
Han smirked, for once, eager to follow this particular command. "What've you got in mind, Princess?" he asked, lifting her legs off his lap to come stretch out beside her on the blankets.
"That first day of our trip, I lied." She rolled onto her side to face him, setting her open palm to his abs, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt as she ran her hand up the length of his chest to curl over his shoulder. "Being held by you is more than enough to get me excited," Leia confessed, prompting a smile from Han and his hand to settle at her waist. "In fact, that's always been the problem."
He turned his body into hers, letting his hand glide down the curve of her hip. "I don't see it as a problem."
"I'm beginning to come around to your way of thinking," she murmured invitingly. Her fingers found their way up into his hair and she leaned in, clutching at a handful at the nape of his neck as she played her tongue over his bottom lip, then inside his mouth, then over his tongue.
As their kiss grew increasingly passionate, Leia allowed instinct to guide her. Using a hand at Han's hip to pull herself flush against him, she gave herself over to the feeling of his soft, warm mouth; the solid strength of his body pressed intimately to hers; the gentle but delicious friction of her breasts brushing his firm chest.
Han, in turn, slid his hand heatedly down her thigh until he found bare skin to stroke and stimulate with calloused fingertips. When that became both too much yet not enough, Leia moved her lips from his to explore over his jawline in a trail of hungry kiss that eventually would have led to his ear…or neck…perhaps down his throat — the possibilities were endless, and she had years' worth of imagining of each to catch up to — but their amorous interlude was abruptly disrupted by a loud Wookiee growl aimed down at them.
Save for the pop of suction that was her mouth parting from his skin, the compartment was completely still, the two of them frozen in mid-embrace. Leia was the first to speak. "It was muffled through the panels, so I may not have heard correctly, but did Chewbacca just say that—"
"He didn't detect the sounds or smells of mating, so he felt free to interrupt?" Han supplied, aggravation dripping from his tone. "Yeah, he said it."
Leia's widened eyes went to his and she bit her lip, suppressing a giggle. Until she remembered her bareness. Then her hand flew down to her naked legs and, at once, she scrambled up and out of Han's arms. "I better put my pants on."
"So much for hiding places…" Han sighed, cursing the relative smallness of the ship. Hauling himself up, resigned to the fact that their romantic alone-time was at an end, he mused, "At least it isn't Goldenrod this time."