Goin' Legit
(November 2020)
Han Solo wasn't sure if it was the weight lying across his forearm, the rumble in his ears, or both that disturbed his sleep. It took him a few moments to fully wake, fumbling to work out why his fingers were tingling, what was the source of the noise, and if the two were linked.
His eyes opened to the muted night setting of the cabin's glow panels. He focused on the cushioned bulkhead that curved above him, listened to the familiar burbles and clunks of the Millennium Falcon's environmental systems. The relief that gushed through him was undeniable, and he snarkily told the part of his brain that continued to insist he was frozen in carbonite to piss off. He was safe in his ship, in the bunk he shared with Leia.
Leia.
Han turned his head to the left, towards the warm, petite body lying under the covers next to him. Here was more life-affirming proof that the nightmare that had ensnared him for a year was over—dead, cremated, buried, goddammit. He needed to jettison anything and everything to do with that time, along with his former life as smuggler and mercenary.
Recalling recent days, he slotted a jumble of images into place as he tried to make sense of what had happened and work out which pointless emotions he needed to eject before they drowned him. Just over ten days ago (in his warped timeframe), he, Leia and Chewie had sought refuge on Bespin after an almost fifty-day trip in the Falcon; a flight that had seen him and Leia finally admit their love, and had really gotten to know each other, in every intimate sense. The memory of spending countless hours with Leia in their bunk—underneath her, above her, behind her, inside her—calmed his racing thoughts, softened the knot in his stomach, and stirred his desire.
Happy in their YT-1330-shaped bubble as they cruised along, Han had never wanted that flight to end. But it had. And then the Empire had turned up and—
He skipped over that part, specifically the relentless cold, dark and agony that had trapped his body and mind, and headed straight to his release from carbonite. He'd been as sick as an akk dog—blind, shaking, nauseous—but the overwhelming love and gratitude he'd felt when he realised Leia was his saviour even now caused a tightness to lodge in his chest and his throat, his mouth to go dry. She may have loved him, but he never expected she would put her life on the line, and risk her position within the Alliance High Command, just to save his moronic, sorry ass. He didn't deserve this woman, not one damn iota.
After his rescue, there had been no doubt about him seeking a commission with the Alliance forces. He had successfully led the Pathfinder Taskforce to disable the shield generator on the forest moon of Endor, which had allowed the second Death Star to be destroyed and part of the Imperial Fleet to be defeated. And then celebrations had followed with friends and comrades.
Leia's injured arm had been a legitimate excuse to bug out early from the Ewok shindig. They had departed after less than an hour, and while Han hadn't told Chewie, Luke and Lando they were not welcome to join Leia and himself on the Falcon, the sly looks and smirks he'd received from those three gawp-clowns meant they'd be left alone, at least for a little while.
He and Leia hadn't made love last night; the two-day mission had worn both of them out, and there was the added complication of Leia's blaster injury, the pain-relief medication she had taken, and a mug of fermented Ewok hooch they had shared at the party. It had been enough to simply hold each other, quietly talking through the events of their mission, what they knew about the battle that had occurred around Endor, and the head-spinning idea that Luke was her brother—her twin brother.
Leia hadn't wanted to discuss what she had told him earlier that evening: Anakin Skywalker—Darth Vader—was her father. That was more than fine with Han, didn't bother him in the slightest. He was no more like his alcoholic, deadbeat dad (wherever the hell he was, if he even was still alive) than Leia was like Vader. Sure, at first the admission had stunned him, but it had taken him no more than twenty seconds to process the data and assure Leia it didn't change the way he felt about her. He loved her for who she was as a person, not who her parents were. Han was always happy to ditch facts that kriffed up his view of the universe, and he suspected Leia was content to follow his lead for once.
A glance at the chrono display set into the bulkhead revealed they'd been asleep for close to eight hours. It was early morning, before dawn. Han frowned, wondering why their friends, especially Chewie, had left them alone for as long as they had. He was still getting used to it being general knowledge that he and Leia were in a relationship. His instinct was to keep things quiet, to protect Leia's reputation. The last thing she needed was the distraction of gossip about who she was sleeping with, particularly as he was her lover. A princess and a guy like him—it wasn't going to wash in most circles. But, strangely, Leia didn't have the same hang-ups and concerns he did, and she was more than happy to openly display affection towards him in public: Holding his hand; leaning into him; a soft kiss to the cheek or lips.
The military rank Han wore lazily lobbed forward the suggestion that he should get up and undertake the duties of a general. There were a million pain-in-the ass things he should be doing before he returned to the Fleet later in the day for a formal debrief and an operational planning session. Right now, though, he didn't give a dewback's cloaca about anything other than the woman lying next to him in their bunk. He couldn't see his commission lasting long with that attitude, but that was who he was.
Han was in this fight for Leia, because it was her fight and because he loved her. Of course, Leia knew his real motives behind joining the Alliance, and he knew she knew, but she hadn't challenged him, and he wasn't going to admit to anything until she did. With any luck, his commission and success with the Pathfinders meant he'd be able to crack a few skulls together and wrangle a mission to kick the Imps out of Kashyyyk. Apart from Leia's happiness, Han's only other goal was reuniting Chewie with his clan. Hopefully, he could achieve that before High Command woke up to the crazy gesture of commissioning him and stripped the general pips from his chest. If not, he'd resign and do it with just Chewie, himself and a few mercenaries who owed him a thing or two. He'd prefer help from the Alliance and half a dozen cruisers backing him up, but he also wouldn't waste time waiting for approval. The Empire had caused too much damage on Kashhyyyk as it was.
It suddenly occurred to Han why his fingers were numb: Leia's head was solidly wedged into the crook of his elbow; the weight of it caused a prickling sensation to run up his forearm to his hand. Once again, they were snuggled together on one side of the bunk. They had agreed that it would be less painful for her blaster-burnt left arm to face out into the cabin, and easier for her to roll out of bed when she needed to use the sani instead of clambering over the top of him, though Han had no problem with her clambering over the top of him whenever she felt like it; no problem whatsoever.
Leia wore one of his t-shirts to protect her injury and to keep her warm during those quick trips to the 'fresher, and dammit, didn't he love looking at her wearing his clothes, almost as much as he loved undressing her when she wore his clothes. Territorial—yes. Pathetic—definitely. Objectifying Leia—never.
Leia Organa meant everything in the galaxy to Han Solo. He was lucky she thought he was worthy of talking to, let alone all the other things they got up to. How in hell he was the lucky bastard who got to sleep and wake up next to Leia, the one who made love with her, the one she shared her life with, the one she loved—it was a mystery; an incredible, kriffing mystery that Han wanted to let wash over himself and enjoy for as long as possible.
Bathed in soft lighting as she slept, Leia's features were delicate, skin porcelain smooth, framed by dark hair that Han couldn't get enough of. She looked beautiful, regal, like the princess she was. And like a princess who snored.
It wasn't particularly loud; a hoarse rasp in the back of her throat caused by the way her head lolled forward at an uncomfortable angle, her chin tucking down towards her collarbone. This had been the noise that had woken him.
Being careful not to jostle her, Han gently slid his arm from under her head until he could cradle her skull in his hand and lower it onto the mattress. He turned over on his side to face her as he shook and flexed his fingers to get the feeling back in them. With his other hand, he lifted her chin up, her head back, to unblock her airway. The action was enough to disturb Leia's sleep; she flopped over and pushed her face into a spot below his shoulder. She mumbled something unintelligible, wiped her nose into his armpit and started snoring again, each exhale blowing across his skin and ruffling his chest hair. This time, the noise was louder and nasally.
Han's mouth twisted into a grin that broke into a silent laugh. He snored if he was over-tired, and if he drank too much. Never in his life had he imagined Leia would snore. Every other time he'd slept with her or near her, she'd been as quiet as a mouse, though he knew from experience that didn't mean she couldn't be loud and uninhibited in bed; hearing her calling his name as she tugged on his hair was the biggest turn-on he had ever experienced. But Leia snoring was something he hadn't expected, ever, and like everything about Leia, Han loved it.
A brilliant idea suddenly came to him in a flash—an idea spurred on by a burst of adrenaline and eagerness, wrapped in happiness and love: Along with working out why he got to sleep with Leia, got to make love with her and share her life, he wanted to spend the rest of his life listening to Leia snore. And he wanted to start today.
With a hand on the curve of her shoulder, he gently pushed her away from his chest. When that failed to wake her or stop her snoring—if anything, she got louder—Han slipped into Plan B and prodded the end of her nose with his finger. No luck.
He placed the tip of his finger against her nostril and wiggled it. Leia's eyes snapped open and she instinctively tried to bat his finger away. Smirking, Han relented and moved his hand across to her shoulder, caressing her skin in silent apology.
Frowning and blinking as she fully woke, Leia took a moment to form her words. "W-w-was...was your finger up my nose?"
Grinning like an idiot, Han admitted, "Not quite up it." He placed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Good morning, beautiful."
He knew he had won her over when she indulgently shook her head at him. He kissed her again, stroked his cheek against hers.
Leia persisted. "Why was your finger not quite up my nose?"
He reached her ear with his lips, admitted, "Because I love you."
Arching her neck, she pressed the side of her head into his. "Is this some kind of weird Corellian courtship ritual?"
A weird Corellian courtship ritual. It certainly was.
Cautious of her injury, Han slipped his arms under her t-shirt, palming his way around her warm skin and hugging her to him. "You were snorin'."
Leia's reply was indignant, but she melted into his embrace. "I do not snore."
Undaunted, Han explained between nibbles to her earlobe, "Sweetheart. You. Snore. Worse. Than me."
She stilled, tensed and pulled her head back as she pushed his shoulders away. "I don't snore."
Han thought about looking sombre to prove he wasn't lying, but this was too funny not to continue grinning like a maniac. "You snore."
There was an uncertainty in her eyes, as if she was trying to find fault in his claim. "Really?"
"Really. You woke me up."
Leia's face cycled through denial, concern, realisation, before she dropped her head onto his chest in what he assumed was embarrassment. Her response was unexpected and uncharacteristic, yet so adorable Han just had to continue his teasing.
"So," he began, his tone deep and as significant as he could make it with Leia pressed up against him like that. "You realise what this means for us?"
Leia looked up at him, her usually confident gaze filled with regret. "You want us to sleep in separate bunks?"
He pressed his lips into a line, shook his head. Leia nodded to herself and her face showed more disappointment. "Separate rooms?"
"Nah-uh," he assured her. "I spent two years chasin' you. There's no way I'm givin' up sleepin' with you, even if your snorin' is louder than an ion engine." He smoothed the back of his hand across her cheek. "At first, I thought there was somethin' wrong with the Falcon. Blown power converter? SLAM playin' up? Power core on the way out? Perhaps Lando had done more damage than he admitted? The noise got louder and louder, and I got more and more concerned. So, I opened my eyes, and realised it was only you. The way you snore, Princess, I reckon you'd give a krayt dragon a run for its money or wake the dead."
His words had the desired effect: Dissolving Leia's dismay and lighting her face with wry amusement as she realised he was playing this up for all he was worth.
Loosening his hold around her, he settled into explain his reasoning. "The way I figure it, we have two options to deal with your snorin'."
Leia leaned back into his arms, head tilted, and brow pinched, suggesting she had his number, like she always did.
"One: Dead men don't tell tales," he began. "So, you have me spaced by one of your High Command goons." Three years ago, she may have been tempted by his suggestion, but he was reasonably confident they were well past that. Reasonably confident.
Nodding, she asked, "And which particular High Command goon do you suggest does this?"
He was generous in his response. "It's your secret we're talkin' about, so you get to choose."
"Anyone except Dodonna?" she suggested, eyebrow raised.
Han's smile was white, bright and dazzling. "You know me too well."
"Yes," she agreed, "I think I do." She placed her arms around his neck and slid her leg between his thighs, nudging his groin in an obvious way that made him shiver. "And what's our second option?"
The press of her quad muscle against his growing arousal was enough of a distraction that Leia was forced to tap him on the back of the head. "Focus up here, Honey. Second option?"
Han blinked some sense and blood back into his brain, centred on the main game. "We go legit, you sign me up to a pre-nup and I'll be contracted to keep your secret. That way, nobody but you and me have to know you snore like a gundark."
Mouth slightly open, Leia frowned at him.
The pulse flicked in the base of his throat as he insisted, "Make an honest man of me, Princess."
She squinted, as if that would somehow make things clearer. "An honest man of you?"
Han wondered if this was going to end the way he hoped. He shrugged. "Ask me to marry you. And y'know, if you have a husband instead of a lover, that should keep High Command and the gossip-mongers off your back as well."
"You want me to ask...?" Her question petered out. Shaking her head, she tried again. "You want to get married?"
Han's smile couldn't get wider if he tried. "Thought you'd never ask me. I've been practisin' signin' my name as 'Mr Princess Leia' for quite a while."
She was silent for a few seconds—a few seconds longer than Han liked—before she said, "Are you serious?"
"I've also been tryin' out 'Captain Han Organa'. Not sure which sounds best."
He couldn't read her face as she released her arms from around his neck, leaned back from him and said, "You are serious."
Dropping all playfulness, he quietly admitted, "Never been more serious about anythin' in my life."
He took it as a good sign that she tenderly placed her hand on his face, from jaw to temple. At least she hadn't left the bunk, and he couldn't blame her for wanting to clarify what he meant.
"You want to get married?" she asked, stepping along each word with care as she looked into his eyes.
He tried a small, hopeful smile. "I'd love to marry you, and I accept your proposal."
She didn't quite smile, and she didn't quite grimace. "You don't think it's too soon?"
"I wanted to talk to you about this on Bespin, but…" There was no need to go into more detail. "And you've probably been waitin' all that time to ask me, so, no, I don't think it's too soon."
Leia nudged her mouth against his, slow and tender. As much as Han loved her and the kiss, it wasn't the answer he wanted.
As their lips parted, he asked, "Is that 'yes'?"
It appeared she didn't quite know what to say. The heavy silence between them stretched out until Han could feel his heart thudding in his chest and the blood rushing in his ears.
Twice, Leia opened her mouth to speak, before she found what she wanted to say. "Han...you're very sweet, and I love you dearly, like I never imagined I'd ever love anyone—"
"So that's 'no'." He was more abrupt than he intended.
She smiled at his defensive tone, shook her head. "No."
At that moment, he could've sworn his heart stopped.
Leia quickly put him out of his misery. "No, it's not 'no'."
'Not no' wasn't 'yes', but right now he was happy to grasp onto whatever scrap of hope she offered, and he concentrated on reining in his instinct to over-react.
"It's just…" Leia looped her arms around his neck again, leaned into him. "This war isn't over, not by a long shot. There's still so much to be done. We don't have time to get married."
It took what little control he had left to calmly point out, "We've got time this morning. Before we head back to the Fleet."
Leia was again taken aback by his reasoning. "This morning?"
She hadn't totally dismissed his idea. That was promising.
"Our friends are here." He gave her a small squeeze. "Your brother's here." He loved the way the mention of Luke as her brother brought a shy grin to her face, and he enjoyed thinking about Luke as his brother too. "This is probably the only time we'll be able to get everyone we care about together at the same time." Her thoughtful nod inspired his next idea to slide into place. "Our furry hosts should have a cleric or shaman who do this kinda bonding stuff for them. We'll ask them to marry us." He lay a hand against the base of her shoulder and neck, his thumb against the gentle slope of her jaw, curved his fingers around the back of her neck, the way he had when he had kissed her in the circuitry bay all those months ago in the asteroid field. "Leia, this shouldn't be difficult. If you wanna get married, we'll do it now, before something else gets in the way."
"You're right."
Her quick agreement floored him. "I am?"
The smile in her eyes matched the one on her lips. "Let's do it." She waggled her head as she recalled the phrasing he had used. "We'll go legit."
His heart was pounding again. He gulped. "You really wanna get married?"
Unravelling the enormity of what they had both agreed to do, Han was too slow to react to her brief kiss.
"Yes. If you do."
He defiantly ignored the tiny part of his brain that still suffered from commitment-phobia, eagerly agreed before he could change his mind. "I do."
Leia had swung back into full princess-rebel-leader mode, decisive and unstoppable. "And we'll do it here, this morning."
Han loved the way she took control; he always had. "You're full of great ideas. I knew there was a reason I loved you."
Her lips touched his as she whispered, "I love you."
Their first kiss was more assent and vow, than venereal. Mouths and tongues soon slipped into another kiss and another, picking up heat and sensuality, before spiralling down to touches of lips, pecks and caresses of cheeks and jaws.
As Han held Leia in his arms, he kissed the side of her head. He couldn't believe this was happening. He had suggested they get married, and she had agreed. It was as simple as that. He was the luckiest bastard in the galaxy.
And then he had another idea that would really start the day off well, smoothing the path ahead for a great marriage.
"You wanna fool around one last time while you're still single?" Han asked. "I can't promise what it'll be like once we're married."
Fingers twirling through his chest hairs, Leia wondered, "You think it'll change?" The smirk was evident in her voice.
"Who knows? Never been a husband before. Might affect my performance."
She eased out of his arms, shifted so her head was in line with his and leaned into his shoulder. "Well, when you put it like that, I better get in while the going is good."
"Oh, the goin' is very good," he assured her.
Leia hiked her leg over his hip, and he rolled onto his back, carrying her with him, her thighs straddling his waist. Like a man possessed, he watched her sit upright and remove her t-shirt, flinging it off somewhere into the cabin. Damn, she was beautiful.
"You realise I'm only doing this for purposes of comparison," she told him, rising on her knees before lowering herself down onto his erection. She grinned at his soft moan and the way his eyes rolled back. "Checking you out before and after."
His hands molded to her hips and tops of her thighs, and he helped her adjust her position, her legs folded on either side of him. "Do I look like I'm gonna argue?"
She placed her forearms on his chest and leaned down until her face was centimetres from his.
"Consort." She wrinkled her nose at him. "You know you won't just be my husband. You'll be my consort."
Like he had told her, in this position he was not going to argue. "If you don't mind, I prefer 'Mr Princess Leia'."
She brushed her lips against his. "Then I guess I'll have to go with 'Mrs Han Solo'."
There was definitely no way he was arguing with her ever again. "I like the sound of that."
Leia kissed him. "Me too."