She was a demanding lover. A Princess, in command as always, she led, suggested, directed.
She whispered instructions, breathless, in between kisses. "I want your shirt off." She had traced his neck, shoulders, arms, peppered tiny, wet kisses across his chest. "You may remove mine."
They were kneeling on his bunk, facing each other, shirtless. But she didn't let him get further. She held his wrists, kept a firm pressure, both their hands near their knees.
A slow, excruciating pace. Mouth on mouth, tongues within, breaths and sighs.
Her fingers squeezed his face. "Han," she said.
His name, her mouth, and he kissed her deeper.
"Look at me," she said.
It took a moment, but he pulled his eyes open.
They were clouded, hazel. Leia smiled and pulled her head back a little. "I see sex."
It was amazing how she could say things like that.
"You don't even know where you are," she smiled at him, aware of a power she held.
His face couldn't move underneath the grip of her fingers, and his eyes looked around comically. "In my quarters."
She smiled again. "Take a moment. Come back to me."
"Body and soul, Princess, with you."
She accepted this. "Not a sound," she said and tilted her head to the right, indicating where on her neck she wanted his lips.
He pressed his tongue to her skin. "Lm?" he said.
"Not a sound. At all. Chewie is next door and we must be respectful. If we disturb him, we'll have to stop and make amends."
"Amends?" Han pictured her inviting him in. "Not a sound," he agreed.
Her hands ran over the planes of his chest. "Hold my breasts in your hands," she whispered.
Han cupped her breasts in his palms. So perfect. Had he ever really looked, learned, a woman's breasts before?
Her hands were now under his elbows. "I like your arms," she whispered.
She was talking, which made sound, but Han decided not to point this out. Instead, he dared move his thumb, sweeping it over the soft skin, back and forth across her nipple.
She stood a little higher on her knees, and arched her back, and began rubbing his forearms up and down. Their faces inched closer. Her lips were parted, red and moist. He brought his own to hers, and she gripped his back, pinning his hands that still held her breasts between them. Their mouths were wide, hungry. He was hyper aware of the bony roughness of his fingers and the swell of her breasts.
"Ah," she sighed, pulling away. "That builds it nicely."
"Builds what?" he dared ask.
"My desire for you."
He exhaled a shuddering breath. It surprised him, and he smiled at her.
"Your pants," she said. "I'll help you."
She fumbled at his belt and together they slid his pants down as far as his knees on the bed would allow.
And there he was, bare to her, everything, bared. He waited.
She looked up into his eyes and then back down his body. Her left hand lifted and her right was on his shoulder. She cupped him at first, and then shifted herself forward and lifted his erection so that it touched her belly. Her couldn't help pressing into her a bit.
"Not a sound," she reminded him as she sensed he wanted to groan, so he bit his lip. "Let me explore this."
He nodded. Her hand mapped him, danced over his length like she was crossing a bridge, tread her fingertips underneath, finding ridges, angles.
"I'm ready," she decided.
He hooked his arm under her rear and lifted her so he could sweep her legs out. Once they were free of their pants, he took her lead, performing what she wanted after she sighed kiss me, touch me, don't stop, there.
He got on his knees again and slid her hips along his thighs. From here, he could survey her, the cool decision of sex and the moment it was overtaking her. The concentration on her face, the white of her throat, her arms splayed out, where they were joined. Her, her realm.
In silence, they moved together. In silence, they loved together.