Chapter 3
It had been a long time since Han Solo had missed someone.
When it came to women, he had had his share of interactions. Most were over soon after they began; a few lingered for weeks or months before dying a natural death. And, if he was honest with himself, one or two of those longer interactions might have qualified as a relationship although he loathed that word. Loathed it for its impreciseness, loathed it for what it often entailed: commitment, responsibility, a threat to his cherished independence. But his transient lifestyle meant that time spent with women tended to be fleeting, the majority of encounters rarely at risk for turning into something more.
He had certainly missed sex when he was on the Falcon between ports, missed the simmering anticipation of the act, missed the feel of a woman's body moving sinuously against his. But he rarely missed a woman in a non-sexual way, in a way that absent any physical intimacy would entice him to return again and again.
It had been almost a standard week since he and Leia had last been together and Han was mulling over — what? The series of interactions they had shared? The string of encounters which he desperately hoped would continue? He didn't know what to call them, what they were; all he knew was that he couldn't stop thinking of her.
It wasn't just the sex that distracted him. That had as good as, or even better, than his fantasies, Leia as confident in bed as she was in every other area of her life. No, it was also the rest of their time together, before and after their coupling, the combined hours they spent recounting their time apart from each other, catching up the latest news from the front lines, occasionally indulging in bits of scandalous base gossip. Rarely did those conversations dip into their individual pasts or histories, but to Han they had been revealing and intimate all the same.
He had done his best to not let thoughts of the future, of his future with the Alliance, of his debt to Jabba, cloud his thoughts. And frankly it hadn't been all that difficult to avoid those unpleasant reminders; he was almost always firmly situated in the present, the past something he couldn't change, the future a collection of possibilities that were nearly impossible to predict. He went through each encounter with Leia without any burden of trying to shape it, of trying to fit it into some overall arc of his life.
But it had thrown him a little that Leia seemed to be acting on a similar instinct. Leia, who planned intricate operations in the war and mastered the details of any aspect of the Rebellian she took it upon herself to learn. Leia, who gave the impression of tightly controlling her own feelings, of only letting people or experiences into her life that she knew, knew, she wanted to include. Han wasn't sure if she had always been that way or if it was more pronounced after her capture and the destruction of Alderaan. In any case, she too had treated their time together as just that, a pleasurable state in present time with no reference to before or after.
So the end result was that his recollections of their recent exploits and graphic plans for future ones were interspersed with plenty of absentmindedness and brooding around his ship. Chewie was starting to treat him as if he'd gone insane, and within the limited range of typical Han Solo behavior, he supposed he had.
Their most recent run to the Tallis Hub, a routine one for food and other mess supplies, was banal in its lack of activity, so he was even more impatient than usual to return to the base. As soon as the Falcon docked, though, he could tell that something was wrong. Not only was Leia not there to meet him — she almost always did, the quiet debriefs at the bottom of the ramp covering not just the results of his run, but arrangements of when they would see each other next — but the mood of everyone in the hangar was somber and quiet.
He saw that the supplies got unloaded quickly and then comm'd Leia. She responded saying that she'd try to see him that night, so Han set out to find Luke and other Rogues, their absence from the hangar suspicious at this time of day.
After he and Chewie had eaten dinner, Han paced around the cockpit, fiddling with a broken circuit board, glancing out the viewport every few steps. He finally spotted her, a small figure made even smaller in the darkened hangar, threading her way around the still and silent X-wings.
Han strode into the hold to meet her at the top of the ramp but stopped short when he saw her fully. She looked worn down, her face pale, arms folded across her chest. Something constricted within him as he took the last few steps toward her.
"I, uh, heard about the squadron," he said. One of the Rogue squadrons was involved in a skirmish a few star systems away that had turned into something more serious. Only half of the pilots had returned.
She nodded, looking past him, pain flashing over her features. He wondered what clean-up work she had undertaken: arranging services, alerting families, reconfiguring assignments. "We have to expect this. It's a war, after all."
"Yeah," he sighed. "Doesn't make it any easier, though."
"No," she said softly, raising her face to him. Her eyes shone, but whether from the reflection of the low nighttime lights of the Falcon or unshed tears, he couldn't tell. She leaned slowly, slowly, toward his chest, and he helped her the rest of the way, pulling her close. The times she needed comfort were rare.
"We'll probably have to move bases again, too," she sighed against him, then raised her head sharply. "Keep that to yourself."
"Sure." He could sense the unspoken question of whether he would move with the fleet, though he had yet to leave. It was another possibility neither of them wanted to talk about.
"How's Luke?" he asked, partly to change the subject.
"About as you'd expect," she responded mutedly. "He blames himself for not being there."
That didn't surprise Han. Luke had become an enthusiastic and experienced leader of the Rogues and was always pressing for more responsibility. Han thanked whatever deities that existed that his friend's squadron wasn't involved.
"Ah, look," he stumbled, rubbing her back, "we don't have to —. We can just hang out." Hang out. He felt like he was fourteen.
She pulled away slightly. "No."
"No?"
"No."
"No what?" He wanted to be certain.
She glared at him. "No stop saying no."
Han assumed his best mock-serious expression. "Yes, Your Highness."
"That's better," she whispered, and pulled his head down to hers.
He allowed her to maneuver them into his cabin, allowed her to divest them of their clothes, allowed her to position him firmly onto the bunk. Save for an underused region of his brain, every cell in Han Solo's body resisted passivity, but neurons firing in that region at this moment instructed the rest of him that she needed this, needed to have some semblance of control in this mess of a war that showed no signs of ending.
Leia settled on top of him, kissing him soundly as her palms smoothed up and down his chest. She took his hands from where they had landed on her waist and drew them above his head, threading her fingers into his while dropping soft kisses onto his jaw. He stayed like that, unresisting, as she rolled against him until he felt her wetness on his stomach; then those neurons dimmed and blinked out entirely. He let out a low growl, wrenched his fingers from hers and gripped her hips, lifting her onto him, sheathing himself in her pulsing heat.
He raised his glance to see her smiling at him, a spark returning to her eyes. "Couldn't resist, could you?" she teased.
"Not when it comes to you," he grunted. The time apart from her had made him needy, and he closed his eyes to block out her undulating figure in an effort to last longer.
She raised and lowered herself on him in a steady rhythm, the sound of their breathing filling the small cabin. They were both tense with unfulfilled release when she bent her torso onto his, gripping his biceps tightly. He nudged her shoulder and threaded his hand between their bodies down to the juncture of her legs, his other hand tight against her ass.
"Like this?" he murmured, pressing his knuckles firmly against her nerves. His thrusts were getting faster, the frayed edges of his control deteriorating rapidly.
Her breath stuttered, the skin of her stomach fluttering against his wrist. "Yes, Han," she gasped. "Almost," a moan escaping, "just… go higher… yes, there."
The way she responded to his touch defied every kind of logic that he had ever encountered. He was still enthralled by that knowledge, still wary that he would wake up one morning to find that it was all a dream, that she never needed him, was never this uninhibited with him in pursuit of her own pleasure. Nothing turned him on as much as her coming in his arms, and this time, like all the others, he fell over the edge soon after.
He couldn't tell how long he drifted in a post-coital state while his hands smoothed every inch of her skin he could reach. Before he could suggest they share a drink before going to sleep, she sighed and untangled the sheets from their legs. "I can't stay. I have to finish some things before the morning."
He watched her sift through the piles of clothes next to the bunk, already feeling her absence. "I'm leaving for Paellan in a couple of days. You able to come by tomorrow night to send me off in style?"
She froze, one leg in her pants. "Is that what this is? A series of farewell fucks?"
Kest. "No, it's not that. You know that."
"Do I?" She folded her arms and looked hard at him. "Please, tell me what I know."
He swallowed, faking a confidence he didn't quite feel, hoping that she hadn't yet discovered a way to resist his cockiness. "Leia, we both know this is just more than just sex."
She glared at him wordlessly.
"Look." He sat up hastily and grabbed her hand. "I didn't mean to assume what you think. I just like bein' with you and I thought you felt the same. Not just for the —," he waved vaguely at their bodies, "but for everything else too."
She pulled her hand away and finished putting on her pants, then turned to face him fully. "Do you ever wonder if this would have happened if I had never heard what you said to Ensign Melor?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Of course I've wondered. But I still think it would have happened. We're too good together." He risked a grin, praying that whatever charm he had wouldn't desert him now. "And you told me that you wanted me. I don't think you would have said that if it was solely about sex."
Her posture remained tense, but some of her anger seemed to dissipate. She gave him an unreadable look, and then rose to look for her shirt.
"There will be a small ceremony tomorrow for the pilots who died. I know it would mean a lot to Luke and Wedge and the others if you came."
"Would it mean something to you?" he couldn't help asking.
She tilted her head toward him. "Yes, it would."
"Then I'll come. Chewie too."
Leia finished dressing and tucked in the loose hair around her braids. Han stood up, feeling faintly ridiculous in his nakedness, and cupped her head tenderly as he kissed her forehead.
"I'll see you at the ceremony. And if you're busy tomorrow night, I'll see you when I get back."
She nodded at him, some of the warmth returning to her eyes. She paused, a rare flicker of indecision crossing her face, and then stretched up to kiss him lightly on the lips before turning to leave.
Days later, as the Falcon docked in its usual place, Han was relieved to see Leia waiting in the hangar, clutching her datapad firmly. He studied her carefully as he descended the ramp, searching for any signs of the tenseness from their last encounter. None were evident as they went through the routine of inventory itemization and sign-off.
"Are you able to come over later?" he questioned in a low voice. He had to force himself to stay apart from her, to resist brushing her cheek with his fingers.
"I think so," she nodded. "Though it will probably be late."
"That's fine," he said. "I'll be there."
"Oh —." Her hand reached out to touch his arm before she caught herself and drew it back. "There's a good chance I'll be able to accompany you on the run to Qundori. I should know for sure tomorrow."
"That's great," he returned. "That gives me time to fit out the Falcon with some girly stuff." She raised an eyebrow at him, trying to suppress a smile. "Y'know," he continued, "fancy-smelling jars of what-not, lace pillows,… that sort of thing."
Leia rolled her eyes, though at this point the familiar reaction was more for him than for her. "I'm always amazed by the things you assume about me, Captain."
"Hey, just want to make my woman happy," he replied with a wink. She flushed and started slightly at his words, but recovered her composure quickly. One of the support crew was approaching them, frowning at his datapad. Han flicked his eyes to him and then back to Leia.
"I'm late for a meeting," she said, pivoting to the nearest door. "I'll let you know when I'm free."
Han reluctantly turned his attention to the intruder, already impatient to get back on the Falcon.
That night after Leia comm'd him that she was on her way over, Han took his drink into his cabin and propped himself up on his bunk, datapad in hand to scroll through the smashball tournament scores.
He must have been more tired than he thought, because the next thing he noticed was Leia removing his drink from his hand and setting it aside. He rubbed his hand over his face, waking to the point that he was vaguely aware of her slipping her pants off and crawling under the sheet next to him.
"Hey," he mumbled. "Sorry for falling asleep."
She kissed his cheek softly and then leaned on her side against the pillow. "You didn't say how it went with K'terra when you picked up the targeters."
"He wasn't too friendly," Han replied. K'terra had never been enthusiastic about the trade, clearly wrestling with whether to stay loyal to the Emperor or begin formal negotiations to join the Alliance. "I, uh, had to convince a bit him to go through with it."
She frowned. "Did you convince him with your blaster?"
"Among other tactics."
"Please tell me there won't be any repercussions," she sighed. "That's the last thing we need right now."
"I doubt it," he said. "I was very convincing."
She looked at him amusedly. "Yes, you are." Her skin was warm under the sheet as he caressed her slowly from her knee to her hip and back again.
"I don't know," he murmured, leaning closer to nuzzle her temple. "After all, you're still wearing clothes."
"I thought taking them off was your job."
"Well, then," he drawled, "I'd hate to not perform my duties up to your expectations, Princess."
Her hand was soft on his neck as she brought his mouth down to hers and kissed him slowly. He deepened it, breaking only to pull her shirt over her head before leaning back over her. Her tongue explored his mouth as his hand curled between her legs, his fingers massaging her slowly over her underwear. She pressed against him as her hands trailed down to his pants and pushed them over his hips.
Han bowed his head into her hair breathing audibly as she stroked him, the motion triggering memories of the first time she brought him to climax with her hand: her fingers slick with lube, his body tense with perspiration, hands gripping the sheets, Corellian curses flowing out of him. Back in the present he touched her wrist, not wanting to finish like that tonight.
He stripped his pants the rest of the way off and rolled onto his side, his fingers twisting into her folds under the cloth barrier. "Let's get these off of you," he whispered roughly as he pulled her underwear down to her feet. She kicked them away and leaned onto her back in the curve of his long body as he hooked his arm under her knee and brought it up against her chest. He tested between her legs with his fingers, slipping two of them inside easily, before withdrawing and sliding his cock into her smoothly.
Leia's back arched in response as she drew her arm up around her head on the pillow, moving the way a lothcat might stretch languidly in the sun. She tilted her head to kiss him, tangling her hand in his hair to pull him closer. Han massaged her breast and thumbed her nipple before smoothing firmly down her stomach. His fingers wandered through her curls at a leisurely pace and slowly began to stroking her clit.
Leia murmured wordless noises as his lips brushed across her cheek to the tender skin under her ear. He felt her breath catch as his teeth grazed a sensitive spot, the combination of his stubble and mouth never failing to induce tremors in her.
"Han," she whispered, her fingers digging into his arm anchored between her legs. "I want —." Her voice broke off as she nuzzled his face, searching for his lips again.
"I know what you want," he murmured into her mouth. "Move your —," then pushed her knee into her shoulder, opening her up wider for him. She gasped and bucked against him as he thrust into her deeper, his fingers still keeping the same steady rhythm on her clit.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her entire being focused on the sensations sparking through her. "Han," she whispered again. "You feel —." Her words faded into incoherence as she chased her orgasm, her hands clutching him tightly. His thumb pressed harder and then she was gone, her entire body shuddering against his.
Han placed tender kisses on her head as she wound down from her high and nudged her onto her side, his body spooning hers. He held her tight against his chest as he thrust into her sharply, her muscles still contracting faintly around him, breathing hard into her hair as he came.
They lay there together, Leia buried in the cocoon of bedding and Han's warm body, making no move to venture out to the fresher. His hand drifted up to her head, fingers caressing lazily around the braids she had neglected to take down earlier.
"Can I undo these?" he murmured, already separating the frayed the ends. She nodded sleepily as he continued to unravel them, dipping her head into her chest as he made his way to her scalp. Gathering up her loose tresses, he twined them around his wrist before nestling the bundle against her back.
"Need me to set the chrono for the morning?" he asked, settling against her again.
"No," she yawned. For the first time in weeks she didn't have to get up early.
"Good," he whispered, reaching to douse the cabin lights. He pressed a last kiss to her head before easing back on the bunk, already half asleep as his head hit the pillow.
