From a Certain Point of View
After weeks of a wholly sedentary lifestyle, the short trip to Leia's apartment proved to be too much for Han's weary body to handle. As the door to her apartment slid shut behind him, he felt the room begin to spin under his feet. A sinewy arm linked with his and guided him to the lounger.
A pair of Leias knelt in front of him. "You don't look so good."
He blinked as the pair slowly became one, then he relaxed and allowed his body to sink further into the conformed cushions.
He closed his eyes and felt a hand land on his thigh. "Sit tight and I'll go make us some dinner."
He nodded his head and listened as her footsteps faded into the other room.
As his eyes fluttered open, a few dark figures came into focus at his feet. A quick burst of terror shot through him as pieces of his consciousness snapped into place and the shapes slowly morphed into one single person: Leia. He drew in a deep, calming breath and he felt her hand resting on his lower leg, right above his ankle as she gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
Concentrating all effort on focusing his eyes on her, he found that she wore a thin smile, like a parent putting on a brave front for a child.
"What's wrong?" Han's voice croaked out before his vocal chords had fully awakened. A set of shallow coughs followed his words as he gathered his elbows up underneath him and tried to sit up.
"Nothing," Leia responded quickly as she stood and watched Han warily as he slowly lifted himself to a sitting position. "Dinner's ready, if you're hungry."
A tingle at the base of his neck left Han feeling as if he was missing something and he furrowed his eyebrows at Leia while he scratched the back of his neck through his long, unruly hair. "Sure, I can manage to eat something. I think."
Seated at the dining table with Leia sitting across from him, he looked down at the watery soup and crackers that she had served him. He listened to her claims of concern for his tolerance to eat anything more substantial while her spoon clinked idly inside of her own bowl, never drawing it up to her mouth for a taste. Thoroughly convinced that she was pawning off yet another falsehood, Han didn't question her as he slurped on the tasteless broth, actually taking comfort as it trickled warmly down his throat and settled in his stomach.
He watched as his bandaged fingers held a steaming spoonful of soup. Resting it on the side of his bowl to let it cool, he looked at Leia and said, "You resigned from the New Republic."
She hesitated before she responded. Abandoning the spoon in her soup, she placed her palms down on the table before her and then met him in the eye. "Before I left to find you…yes."
"What're ya doin' now?" He brought the spoon up to his mouth and drank in the steamy liquid as he watched her.
Her mouth fell open but nothing came out. Snapping her bottom lip closed she looked down at the glass of wine in front of her and lifted her finger to trail along the goblet's rim as she said, "Although I don't hold any official title, I continue to report to the New Republic."
Han swallowed and dunked his spoon back in his soup. "Not sure exactly what to do with you, are they?"
He had meant it in a light-hearted manner, but the hint of fury that flashed in her eyes as they snapped up to meet his caused him to hold his breath in for a brief moment. Then her lips curled up in a smirk and the fire in her pupils shimmered into an amused spark. Taking a sip of her wine she replied, "No, they have no clue."
Their eyes locked and he smiled at her, a broad smile that turned painful as his lips cracked under the pressure – something else that wasn't fully healed. He winced and brushed his finger along his bottom lip, quickly studying the bright red smear of blood on his still-bandaged fingertip before licking his lip and wiping the soiled bandage on his pants.
She watched the entire display and a look of concern clouded over her face. Standing up, she skirted around the table and walked towards him. "I have some balm that we could put on that."
"It's alright."
"You're still far from fully recovered."
He leaned back in his chair, watching her watching him. "It'd take more than a few ladies to bring me down. Believe me, many have tried." He stretched his legs out under the table and crossed his feet at his ankles.
She shook her head at his comment, but that was the only immediate reaction she favored him with. And then, instead of an indignant rebuttal or embarrassed blush, a strained look of pity slowly caused her eyebrows to push the skin between them in an insane effort to meet, causing lines and wrinkles to burst forth on the Princess's forehead.
Thrown for a loop by this unexpected reaction, Han replied with the words he had intended to say, "Hey, c'mon. I was only kidding." But instead of delivering them with a cocky bravado, they came out in a concerned, apologetic plea as he straightened up in his chair and leaned towards her.
A quick burst of air escaped through her nostrils as she shook her head at him and smiled half-heartedly. Her face relaxing once again, she rested her hip against the table, placing one hand down to steady herself there. Lifting her other hand and tugging at his chin-length hair, she said, "I don't think I've ever seen you so…scruffy-looking." As she finished she trailed a finger along the stubble of his jaw, ending the motion with a delicate swipe at his bloody lip.
A light scent that he had begun to identify with her tickled his nostrils and caused his scalp to tingle. A deep swallow was all he could muster in response as he watched her hand fall down to the table and land on his wrist.
"C'mon," she said as she straightened up and tugged at his arm. "Let me clean you up."
Han ran his tongue along his lower lip, mopping up the trail of blood there as he rose to his feet and let her guide him to the 'fresher.
They walked down the hallway and the familiar aroma of the enigmatic princess teased Han's senses as they entered her bedroom. He recognized her perfume and shampoo, and what might be her deodorant, but as they brushed passed the bed where she slept, the smell of her as she dreamed while snuggled amongst the white linens, a mixture of her breath and her sweat – her very essence interwoven with the other scents – intrigued him.
Entering her 'fresher, she pulled a chair from the vanity and sat him down next to the sink, his back leaning up against the wall behind him. He watched her as she pillaged through several drawers until she found a small pair of shears, a straight razor and some soap.
Seemingly satisfied with her inventory of items, she stood before him, heaved a deep breath and said, "Hair first?"
Han shrugged his shoulders as the scent of sweet red wine was introduced to the tantalizing medley. "Sounds good."
He watched her reach for a folded towel and drape it across his shoulders, tucking it into his shirt at the neck. Twisting her body towards the counter, she grabbed the shears and then turned back to face him. Her eyes studied him intently as she ran her fingers through his hair a few times as if planning a method of attack.
All Han knew was that her fingertips running along his scalp was the most erotic thing he had felt in a very, very long time and his brain tingled to life as if its warm-up sequence had been initiated. Clearing his throat, he shuffled in his seat and straightened up his posture.
"Stay still," she huffed as he heard the first clink of the shears and watched a large chunk of his hair fall in between them.
Standing there in front of him, Leia wore a white long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves folded up to her elbows. A white tank top peeked from underneath the outer shirt and both were tucked into a simple pair of khaki pants with a brown shiny belt that matched her low-heeled shoes.
Try as he might to divert his eyes, the only thing that grabbed his undivided attention was the interesting valley of skin that the tank top stretched in between and the light scent of her breath as it tickled the hair on his face.
Continuing with the task at hand, Leia ran her fingers along his scalp as she cut, the falling hair brushing across his skin on his face and down his arms as his eyes were locked straight ahead.
Thinking back to their previous conversation, Han cleared his throat and ventured, "So…what are some of the designs the New Republic has in mind for you?"
She heaved a heavy sigh as she took a moment to meet his eyes. Turning her attention back to his hair, she said, "They want me to train the next generation of Jedi. To re-form the Jedi Council in the likeness of the Old Republic."
He straightened up, this was the most information he had gotten out of her…well, ever. "And what do you wanna do?"
She furrowed her brow. "Stay still." Placing both hands on the sides of his face, she held them there in an effort to get her point across and the scent of her perfume drifted from her wrists to his nose. Letting him go, she continued to cut. "I don't want anything to do with the Force, or Jedi…or the New Republic…for that matter."
Han's eyes widened at that last revelation. Clearing his throat, he covered his stunned expression as he worked on keeping his head very still. "Then don't do it."
She sighed again and took a step back to look at him, apparently surveying her progress. "Then it would die with me…and I can't let that happen."
He watched her step back toward him and with the pressure of a single finger tip against his chin, she turned his head slightly and continued to cut.
Han now stared at the opposite wall, not appreciating this view nearly as much as his previous. "Is that you or them talkin'?"
Placing her hands against his knees she spun him around so that she could get to the back of his head but she said nothing.
He answered her silence as he offered, "You could train someone, just long enough to replace you."
She worked on the back of his head and didn't respond. Pivoting him around so that his back once again rested against the wall, she stood in front of him. Grabbing his chin, she tilted his head back and forth as she studied her handiwork. In a low, exhausted voice, she finally said, "That in itself could take years."
Her tone and her words led him to believe that she had already tackled her problem from every possible angle and he wasn't sure he could offer any groundbreaking advice, so he tamped his mouth down shut and breathed through his nose.
She tugged the towel free from off his shoulders and began to brush at his neck, face, chest and back sending more of his hair down to the floor below. Setting the towel down on the counter she leaned towards him, her mouth pursed, and his heart fluttered in his rib cage as if trying to escape. A gentle wisp of air - no not just air, Leia's breath - tickled against his neck as she worked on a few, apparently stubborn hairs clinging to him there. Han felt wholly indebted to those particular fallen comrades and wished they would hold out for just a few minutes longer as he enjoyed this unexpected, most delightful, royal treatment.
Taking a step back, she set the shears on the counter with a gentle clink and crossed her arms at her chest as she studied him and sighed, "Much better." Taking a forefinger and wiping another stray hair from his cheek before she was done.
Han moved to lean forward and look in the mirror, but she shot forward, placing her hands on his shoulders and halting his progress. Pressing him against the wall, she said, "Nuh, uh, uh. No peeking, I'm not finished."
Relaxing his body against the wall behind him, he held his hands up in surrender, an amused smile painting his face.
She kept a watchful eye on him as she took her hands off of his shoulders and released him. One side of her mouth crept up in a smile that reeked of triumph. Turning to the sink she tapped the water on and then Han watched with great interest as she began to unbutton her long-sleeved shirt, pull it free from her trousers and shimmy it down off of her arms, finally letting it drop to the floor behind her. Without missing a beat, she began to lather up the container of soap in the small dish on the counter acting as if all of this was perfectly normal.
Han could not recall ever seeing her bare arms before, or so much of her exposed like this for that matter. He marveled at the delicate lines that revealed a deceptively muscular frame beneath that milky white veil. Her pronounced collarbones glided beneath her skin like a bow against the strings of a violin as her arms moved gracefully about their task.
Finished with the soap, she grabbed the small bowl and held it in one hand - the mechanical one, Han noted - while she began to paint his face with the foamy cream with her other hand – the real one. Her touch once again sent sparks of energy through his scalp and down his spine, his throat tightened as he tried to swallow.
The smell of the soap overpowered all others and she placed the container down and picked up the razor. She began to shave his face, her lips separated in concentration. The absence of conversation screamed in the awkward silence of Han's impure thoughts. He noticed her delicately tending to any unhealed cuts or abrasions and then becoming most inquisitive around the scar on his chin. Running her thumb along it when she was done, she finally offered, "Evidence from a prior female skirmish, I gather?"
Han forced down a pronounced swallow. "Somethin' like that, yeah."
She afforded him another smirk, this one of the seriously-doubtful kind, but she left it at that and continued.
Her thighs began to press heavily against his kneecaps as she reached around for the other side of his face. Slowly, he allowed his knees to separate and she stepped forward into the space that he had created. Straightening up, she inhaled and then exhaled a deep, tired breath. Holding the razor in one hand, she wiped some soap from his lips with the other and then wiped it onto her tank top at the waist leaving a trail of tiny bubbles in its wake.
Han watched as if in slow motion and as if somehow happening to someone else, as he lifted his hands and placed them on her waist, his thumb rubbing the soap bubbles into the material until they disappeared. Raising his eyes up to meet hers, he began to glide his hands up her sides, waiting for the first utterance of a protest. Her eyes were fixated on his, her lips remained slightly parted allowing delicate tufts of wine-soaked air, but not a single word, to escape.
On their second trip up her sides, he moved his hands over breasts and she gasped and closed her eyes in response. Han recognized the sound of the razor clattering against the tile floor as it fell from her hand. Gently massaging her breasts now, she leaned into him adding a delightful pressure to his touch. Feeling encouraged, he trailed his hands down her body and she opened her eyes and looked at him, his hands resting at her waist once again.
He watched her as she crossed her arms over her abdomen and then lifted her tank top up and over her head, dropping it down to the floor at their feet. Standing bare-chested in front of him, he tried to convince himself that he was dreaming as he ran his hands back up her abdomen and then over her naked breasts. His lips separated and his head moved slowly towards them, he could almost feel them in his mouth already, the sweet taste of her innocent skin against his tongue. His scalp, his chest and every single vessel in his body burned as if pure fire pumped through his veins.
His whispered name was falling out of her sweet lips as he watched his hands massage her breasts, his fingers tweaking her erect nipples eliciting a faint whimper from her in return. Something in the back of his skull tingled and he blinked heavily. Focusing on his fingertips, he noticed that they were lacking their little white-tipped bandages and he jerked his head slightly to knock off the confusion.
She whispered his name again and everything began to blur around him, every object in his view exploding into millions of colorful, swirling particles. The blood in his veins began to cool as the entire room started to spin with a definite jolt and her whispers became louder.
"Han!"
Blinking his eyes at the piercing pain in his head, he found her hovering over him and he was no longer sitting on the small chair, but scrunched up against the wall on the floor of the 'fresher.
"You fainted," she said as she moved to help him up, her tank top still on and tucked in neatly.
Realizing it was a dream, he quickly discovered that his body had reacted to their recent encounter, real or not, and he was fully aroused. Holding his hand up to her, white-tipped, bandaged fingers and all, he said, "Wait. Gimme a minute. Let's wait until the room stops spinnin', okay?"
She took her hand and moved his head to explore where his pain seemed to be radiating from. When she pulled her hand away he saw a red streak of blood.
She began to stand as she said, "Let me clean that up."
Knowing that having her hands on him in any way or fashion wouldn't help his current situation, he answered abruptly, "No, just gimme a minute, alright?"
His voice was harsher than he had intended and she looked confused and wounded as she stood up and began to clean up the razor, shears and soap. Drawing a deep breath he watched her as she gathered up a bandage and some antibiotics, and then turned to look down at him.
Finally getting his bearings, he moved to get up and she was on him like a mother bantha. Moving him slowly back onto the chair, she began to clean his head wound without waiting for permission.
As she wrapped his now throbbing head with a bandage, Han's eyes fell down to the faint remainder of soap trailed along her waist and imagined his hand resting there and his thumb rubbing the bubbles away and tried to remember exactly when he had truly passed out…