A/N: This ficlet was written for the October Han & Leia challenge with the prompt: Hot & Bothered. Thanks, as always, to Mermaid 32 for her invaluable beta work. This one's dedicated to you, Cicatrick, for giving me the idea for the setting in the first place!

With the Right Partner

By: JCBS

"Been waitin' all night to ask you to dance..."

Han Solo straightened and caught her eye, probably to gauge her reaction, Leia Organa surmised as she swayed with the smuggler to the slow beat of the decades-old ballad blasting throughout the Echo Base hangar from Wedge Antilles' microspeakers. Leia was thankful for the respite from prying eyes provided by the dim lighting; the hangar was mostly darkened save for the multi-colored string lights supplied by Wes Janson—he'd supposedly won them in a game of sabacc three bases ago and insisted on transporting them with each move—that Rogue Squadron had hung across the fuselages of a handful of X-Wings and around an improvised altar they'd erected from ice-blocks and plastisteel beams for the evening's on-base wedding of a Roonadan tech and a Delayan mechanic. General Rieekan had presided over the brief ceremony, and the happy couple was now among the dozens of off-duty personnel crowding the makeshift dance floor or clinking cups of spirits around its perimeter.

"But your dance card's been full…"

Caught off guard, yet unwilling to let Solo know as much, Leia cleared her throat. "Didn't figure you for much of a dancer, Flyboy."

In the shadow of an X-Wing, Leia could just make out the faux-hurt look in Solo's eyes and laughed in spite of herself.

"Laugh it up, Princess. But you haven't seen me in action before. I got the moves."

As if to prove his "moves," Solo twirled her—quite skillfully, she admitted—then pulled her close again.

Leia rolled her eyes, determined that Solo would not know he'd impressed her in the slightest.

Solo's features grew serious again. "Sure, I like to dance." His eyes searched her face. "With the right partner..."

Leia's chest squeezed tight, followed by a slow release, not unlike the sensation she'd felt earlier in the evening as she'd observed Solo turn down offers to dance with a human female, a Cerean female, then a human male. Solo had winked at her when he caught her watching him, and Leia'd wondered for the thousandth time why she felt any particular concern over with whom Han Solo spent his time.

She'd never admit it to him, but throughout the evening, Leia had been acutely aware of Solo's movements about the hangar: first laughing it up with techs and mechanics mingling with pilots behind crates stacked to create a bar, then retreating to the Falcon to supply his friends with more booze. Even as she'd danced with Luke Skywalker, then other members of Rogue Squadron brave enough to ask her, there'd been a tractor beam in the room drawing her gaze to his despite her fully-powered defense shields.

While Leia's shields remained on high alert, Solo seemed intent on making clear his earlier meaning. As he began stroking his thumb along her palm, Leia's eyes flew to their joined hands. The gentle friction of his work-roughened fingers on her own caused her to stiffen.

"You alright, Princess?" Solo sounded concerned, but didn't stop his tender rubbing on her exposed skin. Why hadn't she kept her gloves on?

Desperate to distract herself from the feel of Solo's hand on hers, Leia lifted her chin. "Word on base is that you secured two cases of Daruvvian champagne out of your own wages for tonight's celebration."

Solo lifted an eyebrow. "Dunno what you're talking about, Princess."

Leia wasn't about to let him off so easily. "Better be careful," she warned, "or you'll gain a reputation around here for being generous, Captain."

A look of discomfort crossed Solo's face. He recovered faster than a stunned wampa, however.

"Don't believe everything you hear about me, Sweetheart," he dismissed, then waggled his eyebrows at her: "But I do know how to be generous.

Heat flashed through Leia as she tore her eyes away from Solo's, praying to the goddess that he couldn't see the blush she felt creeping up her throat. No, she reprimanded herself, that's not what he means, even though she'd no doubt of Solo's innuendo.

As if to keep her off balance, Solo leaned down as they continued their slow swaying. "Been thinking about our last kiss," he murmured.

Leia's breath quickened. Their last kiss? Her mind helplessly wandered to that kiss whenever left to its own devices. Just that morning her caff mug had overflowed in the mess while she'd been caught in reverie.

"I see you're daydreamin' about me again, Sweetheart," Solo had smirked as he swaggered up beside her, eyes triumphant.

"In your dreams, Captain," Leia had huffed as she turned to clean up the caff spill, secretly fuming that he'd been right.

"Yeah, in mine for sure," Solo had crowed. "But it's good to know we're in yours too."

Solo's use of we had given her pause. He'd been bandying that word about too much lately—making future plans for them—like he didn't, in fact, intend to make good on his long-standing promise to leave. When we eat dinner together… When we meet up with Luke… When we go to Ord Mantell… And why did she inexplicably thrill at his use of that word?

Fine, Leia admitted, she'd spent too much time reliving their delicious first kiss. But she hadn't known Solo also thought about it. If she was being honest with herself, Leia feared their kiss mightn't have meant anything to Solo, that—to him—it was just another kiss, with another woman.

Leia hadn't completed years of diplomatic training only to be rendered speechless by Solo's powerful revelation, however. She drew back to meet his eyes. "You mean our only kiss, Captain?"

Solo's eyes lit up and he chuckled, then leaned in to be heard over the music. "I hope it's not our only kiss, Sweetheart." Solo's warm breath tickled her ear, and Leia inhaled sharply.

Before she could respond, a murmur rose among the Alliance personnel as the string-lights flickered. A moment later, the music died and the hangar was plunged into darkness.

Solo stopped their movement.

"Don't think it should be our only kiss, do you?"

Heat blossomed in Leia's chest.

Solo's hand had worked its way up to her cheek, where his thumb now stroked tenderly.

Anticipation coursed through Leia. "No," she breathed, then turned her face into Solo's palm, going boneless as he pulled her chin up to his.

Leia's eyes closed, and then Solo's lips were on hers. Once, twice, they met. Leia moved her arms up Solo's broad shoulders, clasping her hands behind his neck, tugging him down to her, letting him know that he'd been right: she had been dreaming of this.

Leia felt rather than heard Solo groan as he parted her lips with his own, gently flicking his tongue against hers, waiting for a response. Leia replied with a whimper, then welcomed his tongue with hers as she pressed into him, wishing now that she'd shed her puffy vest before agreeing to this dance.

"Leia..." Solo was moving his lips across her cheek toward her ear now. "Whaddya' say we blow this party?"

Solo had moved his hands down her back, and was making small circles with the pads of his thumbs just beneath her vest as he continued pressing his lips to the tender skin beneath her ear.

"Yes," Leia whispered, then pulled back, brushed her fingers over her hair, and grasped Solo's hand with her own.