The first thing Han is aware of is heat. It spreads outward in all directions from his groin, where he can now feel the weight of Leia as she settles firmly astride him. His body responds with a fresh surge of blood to his cock and he comes awake with a start—although it's only his eyes that move. The rest of his body feels like it's filled with duracrete, or maybe the ship's gravity is set too high. He can feel the cold metal of the bunk frame beneath him, as though the thin mattress he is stretched out upon has been compressed completely flat.

Above him, though, is pure fire.

He takes in the sight of the princess, bare-skinned and lovely, her long hair loose and her feminine curves on full display as she comes to rest atop him, warming his thighs and setting up a smoldering ember low in his belly. He gapes up at her, unabashedly agog; he's never seen her like this and his mind almost can't handle it. For a fleeting instant, he wonders what the hell he's done to deserve this glorious, unprecedented awakening, but then his attention is wholly captivated by the sight of her running her hands down the front of her own body, trailing delicate fingers over bare skin and raising pebbled flesh in the wake of her own touch. By the dim light of the bunk's power panel, he sees her nipples stiffen and his cock gives a heavy twitch in response. She's magnificent. Her petite figure is perfect; long waves of dark hair a delicious contrast to her creamy skin. His gaze roves hungrily over her, marvelling at the sheer beauty of her breasts and belly, the gleam of her pale thighs bracing his hips. Once in position, she never ceases moving, starting with a slow undulation of her hips against his groin. She leans forward and then runs her hands up the length of his torso….

He frowns and gives a grunt of frustration.

As amazing as this turn of events is to him, there's something not quite right about it. He can't feel her touch the way he expects to, the way he craves to, skin to skin. There seems to be something in the way, something between the anticipated heat of her palms and his torso. Pressing his chin to his chest, he squints down the length of himself and feels his frown deepen. Not only is he still fully clothed, he observes with some irritation, but his lower half is covered by a thick, heavy blanket. Before he can fully process this information, he feels Leia's hands on his body again, distracting him from his consternation.

He quirks a faint smile as he closes his eyes once more. It feels nice, her touch. In fact, knowing that she wants to touch him is the best part. It's a dream come true—and yet he remains frustrated by the reality of it. He's waited so long for this, and now that it's finally happening, he's wearing far too many clothes. His shirt is binding him, twisting around his torso, the fabric interfering with sensation. He scowls. It's not fair. He's uncomfortably warm, too, and getting warmer by the second.

He mutters his dissatisfaction even as he feels Leia's hand come to rest once more on his chest. She leaves it there for a moment and then smoothes her palm downward, making his hips try to rise of their own accord. When she withdraws her touch after only a moment, he releases a heavy groan. The ache within him, the intense need to feel her skin against his own blinds him to everything else. Fuck, has he ever wanted anything more than that?

And anyway,he wonders irritably, since when was he ever passive in bed?Deciding that it's long past time for him to take the lead in this novel encounter, he opens his eyes and tries to sit up. The impulse goes nowhere, though, and his consternation deepens. He tries to lift just his head instead, but it seems to weigh as much as a landspeeder. With some effort, he turns it against the pillow and notes with a small shock that Leia is there, crouching beside him at the bunkside, not astride him after all. He squints and thrashes his head in confusion, makes a sound deep in his throat and tries again to rise.

"Sssh, Han, it's okay," Leia murmurs, pressing a restraining hand to his shoulder, bearing him gently back to the mattress.

Her voice is rich and warm, soothing and familiar. Han subsides and closes his eyes again for a moment, feeling her loom over him once again. He smiles faintly at the sensation of her hand resting lightly on his chest as she leans in to kiss his forehead. She dots a series of small, cool kisses across his brow and temple, presses a soft caress to his cheek and then trails her lips deliciously along the line of his jaw. The scent of her envelops him and he breathes it in, feels it tickle his nose. It's a strange aroma, not at all like the sweet smell of her logged in his memory, but that brief flicker of thought is lost in the heady feeling of her lips moving against his skin. He wants so badly to kiss her back; struggles to crane his neck enough to angle his lips to meet hers, but he can't seem to move and she seems to be deliberately avoiding his mouth. A fresh wave of frustration washes over him, amplifying the heat that was surging through his core. He opens his eyes and tries to focus on her face hovering just above his. Why won't she kiss him?! And why can't he seem to lift his hand up to her cheek, to draw her closer?

He opens his mouth to speak—he's not above pleading at this point—but his tongue feels thick, and the best he can manage is a mumble.

"Quiet, now," Leia whispers. "Just lie still."

He acquiesces at the press of her soft lips against his forehead again, and gives a sluggish nod against the pillow as he settles back and closes his eyes once more. It seems he hasn't the capacity to do much else; the heat of his desire for her is so overwhelming that it's rendering him slack and boneless, and so intense that his body feels as though it's combusting from within. The urge to reach for her is a powerful ache deep in his bones, and he wants to devour every centim of her delicate skin and kiss her until she is just as senseless as he is.

And then she's kissing him again, her soft lips now slowly peppering the skin of his throat with light caresses that feel so fucking good. She takes her time, and oh, she's incredible—somehow, with every gentle press of her lips, she manages to quell the fire surging through his veins, reducing it to a low, simmering flame. He's grateful for that, because as the raging heat slowly subsides, his addled brain begins to clear. But with clarity comes a brief flicker of confusion. Since when did Leia ever come to his bunk naked, sit astride him and then proceed to kiss him all over? His bewilderment is fleeting, though, overridden by pure pleasure as he feels her lips sweep across his neck, along his collarbones, his upper chest, and—.

Wait. Did she just tug his shirt free of his waistband and...and...lick his belly!?

He struggles to open his eyes again, and when he does, he finds the room has gone quite dark. He can't see Leia at all now, but he can feel her, and what she's doing threatens to overload his senses completely. She is licking him, low on his belly, and the sweep of her tongue against his flesh feels as rough as a Loth cat's, cool and damp and...extremely odd. It's nothing like he has ever imagined—and he has imagined this sort of thing quite a lot.

When she pushes his shirt higher and starts licking the whole of his chest, laving him with broad, cool strokes up and down the length of his torso, he furrows his brow and squirms atop the thin mattress. It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation, but neither is it as tantalizing as he has always fantasized it would be. Still, this is Leia, doing things to him he's only ever dreamed of—so what if it feels a little different? He's wanted this for so long….

And then it stops.

He feels her smoothing his shirt back into place, and then he can no longer sense her presence at his side. Feeling bereft and confused, he turns his head and squints into the darkness, tries to track her location in the dim light of his cabin. He can't see her...where has she gone? He struggles to sit up, but he can't seem to gather the strength to bring his heavy limbs to life. He gives up with a groan of frustration, curls his hands into claws and clutches instead at the thick blanket beneath his fingers. Licking parched lips, he wills his own stubborn tongue to move.

"Leia," he manages at length. "Where...where are you?"

She looms back into view. The sight of her, silhouetted there against the dim cabin lights, fills him with relief. "I'm here. Han. Just try to relax."

"I want to—let me—," he croaks. "Let me touch—." He tries once again to set himself upright, but Leia halts his movement with a forestalling hand pressed lightly to his chest.

"Could you just lie still?" she says, a note of exasperation in her voice. "Don't try to move or you'll make it worse."

Make what worse? And anyway, he can't move, and that's the problem. His limbs feel weighted, and the more he tries to move, the more impossible it seems to get, almost as if something is impeding—.

A thought takes shape in his consciousness. Though it takes considerable effort, he focuses all of his energy on lifting just one arm from the mattress. His movement meets with resistance looped in a solid band around his wrist and suddenly the reason behind his inertia hits him like a thunderclap.

"You tied me up?" he squawks, turning incredulous eyes up to her. "Princess, I didn't know you were into that kinda th—"

The sound of her laughter erupts, bubbles and fizzes all around him. He furrows his brow in confusion, and tries mightily to focus on her face. She's out of focus and hard to see, but even in the low light he can make out that her shoulders are shaking and she's biting her lip. Why is she laughing?

"You're not 'tied up'," she says at length, her voice dry, but laden with suppressed mirth. "Your arms are restrained for your own safety. And mine."

He scowls. "Hey, now. When have I ever—."

Her face comes into view again, clearer now...so pretty and perfect, her big brown eyes roaming over him, distracting him from what he was saying. He sees her lips move before the sound of her voice reaches his ears. "I know. I know you wouldn't hurt me on purpose," she says, her tone soft and soothing, "but this fever is making you flail around and you're a..."

Han blinks. "Fever…?"

"Yes, you've got Bybbec Fever. Must have picked it up back on Verroth. It hit you a few hours after liftoff, when we were only halfway back to base. I was asleep at the time, but Chewie said you slumped over all of a sudden and nearly fell out of your chair. I woke up to the sound of him roaring for help—which, I have to say, is possibly the most terrifying thing I've ever heard."

Han grunts. A frightened Wookiee bellowing loudly enough to be heard from the cockpit would be more than enough to wake anyone. And yet it hadn't woken him; he has no memory of it at all.

"A fever, huh?"

"Yes, but you seem to be coming out of it now." As she speaks, she moves away, out of his field of view. He closes his eyes for a moment, but opens them again as his head begins to swim.

Fever.

It all adds up now. The oppressive feeling of heat, the deep ache in his bones, the skewed perception and near-hallucinatory visions. He rolls his eyes around, and then squints. "Why's it so dark in here?"

"Well, according to your medisensor, Bybbec fever reportedly makes humans unbearably photosensitive while the fever stage is active. I figured you wouldn't want the lights any brighter than they already are."

As she steps to the side of the bunk, crouches down and presses a cool, damp sponge to his forehead and cheeks once more, Han's eyes adjust to the dim light and he is finally able to focus on her properly. He is slightly disappointed to see she's not naked after all, although she is wearing rather less than usual. Clad only in a thin tank top and thermal leggings, it looks like she came straight from her own bunk to tend to him. Her hair is only loosely bound, gathered into a plump braid drawn over one slim shoulder, with loose tendrils framing her pale face. She's never looked more beautiful, but it's the fact that she's here with him, carefully nursing him back to health, that makes Han's chest feel tight.

There's a split-second when he almost blurts his thoughts out to her, but the return of consciousness has brought with it a modicum of self-restraint. He manages to quell the reckless impulse— although he can't help but wonder if, in his fevered state, he has perhaps already confessed his heart. The flicker of unease he feels at that possibility is nothing compared to the spike of alarm that follows it, as realisation of a more immediate threat finally pushes its way to the forefront of his mind.

"The engines are off," he says, feeling his stomach tighten as his heart thumps belatedly into a higher gear. He tries to shift up onto one elbow, slips, and falls back to the bed. "We're planetside again? Where are we? Oh shit, Princess, there's nowhere—nowhere safe—anywhere along our route—"

Leia reaches to smooth his hair back from his temple, the novelty of her tender touch an instant, calming balm. "Sssh, it's fine. Yes, we're planetside, on the dark side of Kastolar right now. We had to make an emergency landing."

"Kastolar? Has Chewie lost his furry mind—hey, wait a minute. Where is he?" Ordinarily, the Wookiee would be the one playing medic whenever Han was sick or injured—not that Han was complaining at Leia doing it in his stead.

"He's in the jungle, gathering more Gattis-root." As she speaks, she gestures in the direction of the hatch and Han's attention is drawn to the damp sponge in her hand. The distinctive scent of the root extract wafts toward him once more, and he gives a soft, derisive snort at his own fevered imagination.

Kisses, huh, Solo? At least now he has an explanation for the sensation of having his torso licked by Leia's bizarrely large, rough tongue. He has to stifle the urge to laugh; he wants to tell her about it, but something tells him she might not appreciate his semi-conscious mind's carnal interpretation of her kind ministrations.

"He says the extract will help you recover faster," Leia informs him. "At least, I think that's what he said. We should've brought Threepio along."

Han grunts his disagreement. He's miserable enough already, without that damn droid fussing all over the place.

Leia laughs softly. "Good thing I've been working on my Shyriiwook. But I think Chewie must be right. We've been using the extract on you since the fever hit and it seems to have done the trick. But there was only a small supply in your medpack, so we made a quick stop to pick up a little more."

Han releases a heavy sigh. "How long have I been out of it?"

"Four hours, give or take." She cocks her head, regards him thoughtfully. "We were pretty worried at the start. You were so out of it, you fought Chewie like a rabid Gundark when he tried to strap you in. But you seem coherent enough now, so I think we can take those restraints off."

Leia releases one side and then the other, freeing his arms. Overcome by a fresh wave of heat, Han pushes himself upright, flings the heavy bedclothes away and then fumbles for the hem of his shirt. He pulls the garment up, exposing his torso to the cool air of the cabin, but then stops short with the shirt halfway up, as he sees Leia's face, her eyes wide.

"Wh-what are you…?" she stammers.

"I'm roasting. Need it off, right now."

Pressing her lips together, Leia gives a short nod and then steps nearer to help him tug the shirt off over his head. As she turns away to toss the discarded garment in the general direction of the fresher door, Han drops back to the bunk, his fingers falling to the clasp at his waistband. By the time she turns back, he has his trousers shoved halfway down his thighs. He stops short again, seeing Leia's expression. Even in the dim light, he can see the flush tinting her cheeks as her dark eyes grow wider still. Suddenly, she looks almost as feverish as he feels, perhaps even a little flustered. He offers an apologetic grimace.

"Sorry, Princess. I'm burning up."

Leia nods again and stands by, demurely focusing her gaze on the deckplates as she gives him a moment to divest himself of the offending garment. But the effort proves to be too much; it exhausts him, and he falls back to the bunk with his trousers still entangled around his ankles.

Without comment, Leia takes over from where he left off, leaning down to drag the clothing briskly free of his body. She applies the same swift and businesslike energy to the removal of his socks, peeling them off one by one. The sensation of cool air caressing his bare feet makes Han nearly groan with pleasure.

"Better?" Leia asks, straightening and then turning to toss the clothing atop the discarded shirt.

"So much better," he affirms as she turns back in his direction.

He wants to strip off his boxers as well, but something tells him the princess might not give him a pass for that, fever or no fever. In deference to her relatively modest sensibilities, he uses the last of his energy to drag a single sheet across his hips

"I guess now you have to admit one thing, though," he says wryly as he tucks one arm behind his head.

"What?"

"I am pretty hot."

Leia rolls her eyes and skews her lips to one side, pulling a face that is probably meant to convey exasperation or annoyance, but he can see the dark sparkle of amusement in her eyes. He gives her a drowsy wink. The effort of getting his clothes off has nearly wiped him out.

"Yeah, you're hot all right," she replies drily. Reaching out, she touches the back of her hand to his forehead. "Still too hot, in fact. I'm going to mix up some fresh solution and try to cool you down a bit more."

Han manages a weary half-smile. The weight of sleep is descending around him, pressing his eyelids closed. "Damn," he mutters. "Getting a sponge bath from my favorite princess and can't do a damn thing about it. So unfair." He hears Leia's quiet snort and ventures further still. "Guess I'll have to owe you one, Highness…."

"We'll see about that, Hotshot," she replies, a touch of mirth in her quiet voice. "Just rest now. I'll be right back."

He nods—or tries to. His consciousness is ebbing and he isn't certain if the impulse moves from thought to action. The sounds of Leia moving around the cabin are muted now and growing fainter by the second.

But he's not dreaming any of this, he reminds himself with a mental pinch. He isn't merely imagining that Leia is caring for him...it's really happening and it feels pretty damn good.

He draws a breath. "Sweetheart."

He hears her light footfalls drawing closer to the bunk. "Yes?"

"Thank you," he murmurs, although he can't be sure if he says the words aloud.

The cool caress of her hand on his cheek is Leia's only reply.