"Don't move."
The words were little more than a whisper, a caress against the back of Solo's neck. He knew that no-nonsense voice. It was the sort of command a man of his experience didn't ignore. He didn't move.
Han felt a hand graze the back of his thigh before it unsnapped the leather tie-down of his custom quick-draw holster.
"I didn't hear you come in," he muttered, eyes remaining locked on the ragged cityscape of Coronet spread out before him. The window was set at the wrong opaqueness to offer a reflection. His hands itched to move, but common sense kept them still, lifted out a little at his sides.
"You weren't supposed to."
Hands snaked around his waist to efficiently unlatch the buckle, and the familiar weight of his blaster and holster rig were abruptly gone. He felt almost naked. The rush of adrenaline made his heart trip into a higher gear.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" He heard a soft thump of what he assumed was his weapon dropping onto the plush rug somewhere behind them.
"Oh, I'm quite sure. I've waited a long time for this, Solo."
"What about—?"
"No more talking."