At final count there are six thousand words in this chapter and twelve of them are some derivative of fuck.
... I am so sorry.
They left the hall as early as they could without drawing attention to themselves. Han was amazed at the wordless, mutual agreement they seemed to make after the speeches concluded: no small talk, no politicking, nothing more than a few pleasant goodbyes.
The struggle came during the long trek back to Leia's quarters. It was still relatively early and at the very crux of the third shift change. The halls were bustling, pilots stopping mid-stride to salute as they passed. He'd made it clear to his last command that saluting was unacceptable behavior in his book. Perhaps he needed to address this with his new command as well.
After the third interruption Leia leaned over and grabbed the inside of his elbow. "Are they doing this on purpose?"
He blew out his breath. "Probably."
She smiled but slid her hand to his bicep and pressed the length of her body against his side. "I would give anything to hear your first command brief tomorrow morning."
He rolled his eyes.
She continued. "'Welcome to the Mon Remonda. I'm Han Solo. Stop fucking saluting me in the halls when I'm clearly trying to get Her Worship to bed.'"
Han laughed and shook his head. "'Stop fucking saluting me in the halls, period.'"
She cocked an eyebrow at him. He always wanted to pin her against a wall when she did that. Tonight the instinct was particularly strong. "As a member of the Provisional Council, I should remind you that that is a serious breach of naval protocol," she said.
"So is trying to get a member of the Provisional Council into bed," he fired back. "This seems like the lesser of two evils."
Two more stops to acknowledge saluting staff and they made it to the turbolift. There was no doubt she'd be able to feel what she was doing to him. At this point "Her Worship" wasn't even an ironic nickname: he'd gladly take to his knees if she asked. He pressed his nose into the braids wound around her head and breathed deeply, trying to distract himself. When that didn't help, he kissed the skin behind her right ear, thinking maybe little hits could take the edge off.
He breathed a sigh of relief as the lift doors opened to her deck. The officer's wing was nearly deserted; he slid his hand across Leia's back, brushing over soft skin and the lower edge of her dress. She closed her eyes briefly and leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt fantastic, like warm water on aching muscle. The same sense of therapy, tucked into his side like she belonged there.
They reached her hatch and got through it in record time. Immediately he turned her around and pushed her up against the closed hatch. She laughed as she crashed into the metal and reached up to grab the sides of his head to kiss him. He groaned into her mouth. The taste of the wine on her tongue was like a sharp note in a bouquet he was determined to fully enjoy. He was lost to her lips, to her tongue, to the feel of her hands in his hair.
"That dinner was torture," she whispered when he took a breath. He mumbled in reply and kissed her again, running his tongue over hers. She slid her hands to the back of his head, fingers slipping through his hair and pulling gently. He reached down and wrapped her thigh around his, impatiently pushing at the silk of her dress until it hung over her leg like a curtain. He broke their kiss to glance down at the sight.
It took his breath away: something that should look innocent but bowled him over in its deep eroticism. Her bare thigh, pressed against the stiff fabric of his pants, wildly inappropriate behavior for their respective uniforms. His hand kneading her skin, pressing into pale muscle. He glimpsed black lace at the crook of her inner thigh when he bunched the dress up high enough.
She stole the moment and began the long process of loosening the collar of his dress shirt. Her fingers brushed his throat and he swallowed thickly, running his hand up and down her thigh. His body felt electric, like energy crackled just below his skin. Sharper than fire, brilliant and biting.
What had she said? Anticipation is key?
Maybe he'd underestimated anticipation a bit. He was so turned on he was having trouble deciding what he wanted to do first.
"You lost our game, Organa," he murmured against the shell of her ear, figuring he might as well fly straight into the sun since she was pulling him in already. "Talk to me."
She got the top of his shirt unclasped and bared his throat. Leaning into him, she pressed her lips to his Adam's apple. His nerves went haywire, fire and electricity racing in a current up and down his spine."I have been wanting to run my tongue over you for hours," she whispered.
He closed his eyes.
"You don't even know what I was thinking during dinner," she said, mouth trailing down to his collarbone. "I'm not sure you could handle what I was thinking during dinner."
Truly, he wasn't sure, either, but he had a role to play. "Try me."
Her fingers twisted momentarily at the next button and he moved his hand away from her leg. She slid her foot back down to the floor with a click of her shoe and he pressed his hands above her head. Palms flat against the hatch, he tilted his chin down to loom over her. To anyone else, this would look dominating; Han knew appearances were deceiving. One of them had control here and it sure as fuck wasn't him.
"I was thinking," she said, whispering, eyes dark, "that, given half the chance, I would have happily ducked under the table at dinner."
He groaned. This was the problem with urging her to talk dirty to him. She was the master already; he was lost long before she opened her mouth. Inviting that kind of behavior would kill him as surely as a blaster bolt would.
"Could you imagine it?" she asked, another button coming undone. She was halfway down his chest now. "All those people around us. Could you have been quiet enough?"
No.
"Would you have whispered my name?" she asked. She stopped kissing the inside curve of his right pectoral and looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. He had no hope of responding in words, so he just nodded. "I thought so, too," she said.
She quickly unfastened the rest of his shirt, pulled it from his pants and stood up on tiptoe to kiss his collarbone again. "I love this uniform," she said, pressing her hands to his chest and then slipping her fingers through the open front of his shirt. "I love that you wore it tonight for me."
As her fingers moved from the center of his stomach to his obliques, he swallowed and shook his head. "No good reason to wear it except for you. The thing is ugly as fuck."
She looked up sharply from his chest and narrowed her eyes. "Take that back," she demanded. "You know how good you looked tonight."
He grinned, unapologetic. She sounded like she was mortally and personally offended.
"And don't think I missed you leaning up against the bar and staring at me, either," she continued.
He watched her press her lips against the center of his chest and then look back up at him. He felt branded, as though he'd see the outline of her lips on his chest if he looked down.
Her eyes caught his and he realized he was supposed to be answering her. "Just keeping track of my princess," he said, fingering a loose strand of her hair.
Leia blinked at him. "Your princess?"
Shit. Had he said that out loud? "Yeah?" he said, trying to play it off as a joke. "Why? Are you somebody else's princess?"
She stared at him, big eyes suddenly calculating and sharp. He had the strongest urge to backtrack, because he knew how that had sounded. Of course he didn't own her. Only an idiot would think he could own another person, especially Leia Organa. He'd been thinking about Vangress' words: the galaxy's princess. He'd been thinking how this woman here with him wasn't the galaxy's anything. Not right now, at least. She was herself, nothing more or less than that, which was how he'd always wanted her.
Symbols and icons? No. Leia, with hair tumbling down to her shoulders and a private smile in the dim light of her cabin? Yes. She was absolutely his princess.
She took her hands off his chest and leaned back just a bit. "No," she said, and Han recognized her playful tone. He relaxed and cocked his head to the side. "I am most certainly not anyone else's."
Leia pushed him away from her, softly but with intention, and then followed after him as he took a few steps back. He grinned at her dangerous expression and pulled her with him as he navigated her quarters backwards and by memory. The rooms were dark, only illuminated by the barest glean of emergency lighting near the ensuite fresher. He stretched out to kiss her, craning his neck as he turned the corner to her sleeping quarters. She nipped at his lower lip and gripped his biceps.
The pressure on his arms was suddenly gone and in its stead were the sounds of high-heeled shoes hitting the far corner of the room. He smiled, watching her height disappear, then slid his hands around her hips to palm her ass.
Leia kissed his chest again and tugged at his belt. "I want this off," she murmured. Her head tilted down to watch her fingers slip into the waistband of his dress pants. Han's affectionate smile turned into a smirk as he felt her tug on the closures of the belt and slid his trousers open. She looked back up at him as she reached in and brushed her fingers against his cock.
She winked up at him. Han's chest tightened.
"Eager?" he asked and squeezed her again, trying hard to hide his little jump as he felt her fingers against him.
"Unbelievably so," she said. She reached up with one hand and pulled his head down to hers. He kissed her; her other hand lightly teased him beneath his belt. He stepped closer to her and trapped her hand between them. With one swift back step she broke their kiss and sat on the bunk. He made to follow her, but she pressed her palms to his hips and gave him a warning look. In the bare light of the room she looked absolutely sinful, still fully dressed, hair in serious disarray, clearly focused on the open sides of his belt. She pursed her lips, pulled her hand from his pants and grabbed the backs of his thighs. He followed, obedient, and stood above her knees, wondering how far the princess would take this tonight. "You're supposed to be talking," he reminded her. "Dunno how you're going to manage that with my cock in your mouth."
She looked up. "This was my original plan for tonight."
"Since when?" he asked, but focused on the way her hands were running slowly up and down the backs of his legs.
"Mmm." She leaned over and kissed the small sliver of skin visible between the open ends of his belt buckle. Han suppressed a shiver. She kept her lips close; he could feel her breath against his skin and the sensation was driving him crazy. "Since the moment you walked into my quarters, dressed like this, and made a rather large gesture on my behalf."
She kissed him again, and he gulped as she pressed the flat of her tongue against him. Goddamned woman had no fucking idea how beautiful she looked at the moment. "Doesn't sound like something I'd do," he managed, still playing the game though they both knew he'd lost long ago. "You sure it was me?"
Leia blinked up at him, then grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Her eyes looked enormous. "It sounds exactly like something you'd do," she whispered.
Leia reached between the enclosures of his pants and, with a light grip, pulled him free. He could feel her fingers underneath him, just flashes of touch, barely there, and he forced himself not to close his eyes. He'd learned awhile ago not to miss this sight. She pressed her palm to the underside of his shaft and slowly closed her hand around the base. And then, because Leia Organa had some sort of voice in her head that told her how to end him, she looked up at him with those incredible eyes of hers, pursed her lips and kissed him softly, barely, on the very tip.
Han gave up. She just wrecked him. Constantly, without knowing how she was doing it. He closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "Leia," he whispered, and reached down to hold the back of her head. Her hair brushed across the callouses on his palms, strands running through his fingers.
She opened her lips and Han was suddenly consumed with heat, a wet, burning heat that felt like it would turn him to ash. He dropped his head back, swallowing against his suddenly shallow breaths. He could feel Leia's other hand sliding the pants from his hips and down his legs. And then her hands were on him, pulling him toward her, and he groaned, overwhelmed.
Han tried to focus on something other than the warm, slick feel of her mouth. He knew it was hopeless. Nothing he could do would be enough of a distraction and he'd been pushed too far already tonight. His skin felt thin; he felt defenseless. There was a reason he should be paying attention to the outside world but his brain was on overload.
Leia hummed and his nerves crackled, energy spider-webbing throughout his body. He thought he said her name out loud but wasn't entirely sure. He'd left his brain somewhere in the early part of the evening, before he'd come to her quarters. He couldn't even quite remember how they'd gotten here, to this room. The only thing he knew for a fact was that Leia was trying to kill him, taking her time, rolling her tongue, sucking with exquisite power. He dropped his head forward and forced his eyes open. He needed to focus on something else before he tumbled over into a disappointing ending to the evening.
Unfortunately the visual stimulus wasn't any less of a trigger. He could see the crown of her head bent over him. He could see her hands gripping his hips. Her head began to move, just slightly, a soft rhythm that Han felt across his already blistering skin. He could feel her tongue press against him, underneath him. Somewhere in the room his low groans were echoing off the walls. "Fuck, Leia," he heard, and that was the sum total of his vocabulary.
Fuck, Leia. God, Leia.
With the last coherent thought in his head, he pressed his fingers into her cheekbone. He was trying to signal her to stop before he came but he was not completely sure why. The details had escaped him. He heard his voice but the sounds didn't make much sense to him. He pressed against her cheekbone again and tried to speak. In Basic, if he could swing it. "Leia, stop," he panted. "Stop."
She slid her mouth off him and swept her hands down the outsides of his legs, looking at him with confusion. "Why?"
Why? He almost laughed. Without the maddening heat of her mouth, the world was starting to make sense again. His heart was pounding and his cock throbbed, but at least he could remember the pertinent fact that had escaped him before. "Because you're shoving me over the finish line here and I have a lot more I want to do with you."
She tilted her head to the side. "You want," she said, running a finger up the side of his cock.
He resisted the urge to whimper. "Yeah," he said, and moved his hand from her cheek to tap her bottom lip with his index finger. "I want."
She nipped at his finger and stood, her hand wrapping around his base and squeezing tightly. He swore under his breath and leaned into her hand. "Well, General," she said. "What exactly do you want?"
He grinned, still a little shaky on that point himself, but all sorts of ready to find out. "Get on the fucking bed, Leia."
She arched an eyebrow at him and turned around. "Sure," she said. "But I think you're forgetting something rather important." Without another word, she lifted her arms and gathered her hair in both hands, waiting.
She wants to be unwrapped, he thought. Like a present. He reached for the clasp at the back of her neck, fingering the metal and watching the play of her shoulder blades as she shifted closer to him. She bowed her head; one lock of hair slipped between her hands and brushing against the back of his hand. He stepped closer still, his hips pressing into her lower back, then leaned over to softly kiss her ear. "I love you," he whispered as he pulled the clasp apart and watched the midnight blue of her dress drop to the floor.
He took a moment to appreciate the incredible line of black lace sitting low on her hips. Expensive. Probably a well-hidden secret, something she'd picked up on one of her diplomatic trips. Foresight in spades, Han thought with a small smile. He ducked his head to kiss her shoulder and fingered the seam of the lace at her hipbones. "Move," he said and opened his hands to lift her to the bed, kneeling, her back still facing him.
The bed was tall enough that kneeling on it gave Leia more height than she had on her own. Her hips were a little higher than his, the top of her head even with his lips. She planted her knees, straightened her torso and grabbed one of his hands, pulling it to wrap around her waist, her back flush with his front. She tilted her head to the side in open invitation and he bent his neck to kiss her shoulder again.
"This is nice," he murmured against her skin. "You should be taller more often."
She laughed. "Would if I could, Flyboy," she said. "Some girls have all the luck."
"It's true." He slid his mouth to her collarbone and moved his other arm around her waist. "Must be murder on your neck, kissing that general of yours."
He said it on purpose and she caught the reference quickly. If she was his princess, he was absolutely her general. "That general of mine is usually good at making it worth my while."
"Really," he said, not a question, and moved one of his hands to the skin just above the lace. She sucked in a breath as he ran a line across the top, then slipped his fingers inside.
"Yes, really," she said, her hand mirroring his over the fabric. She leaned the back of her head against his shoulder and pressed down against his fingers.
Han took the hint and grazed his fingertips across her stunningly wet warmth. She felt like silk, the evidence of her arousal so blissfully tactile that he wanted to just fuck the foreplay and hurry things along. But he needed to make this good, he needed her to miss him like he would miss her, with every thought and memory he could plant in her brain.
So. He would take his time.
"Wet already," he murmured into her ear. "Can you tell me how that happened, Leia?"
She hummed and slid the heel of her palm against the top of his hand, trying to get him to deepen his touch. He resisted and kept his fingers soft and gentle.
When it became obvious she wasn't going to talk, he grinned and moved his lips to the other side of her head. "C'mon, Worship," he sing-songed. "Weren't you the one that lost our little game at dinner?"
Leia huffed and turned her head toward his mouth. "Don't be difficult."
He chuckled and dragged his teeth across her earlobe. "I ain't the one being difficult. Talk."
She turned her head quickly and kissed his lips, her tongue sliding across his without hurry. He tightened his hold around her waist so she wouldn't pitch forward but didn't change his lackluster touch beneath the lace. He shifted further toward her and craned his neck to make the kiss a little more comfortable for her. He could feel the outside arch of her feet against the inside of his knees and her other hand came up to cradle the side of his head.
"Move your fingers," Leia said against his lips, "and I'll talk."
He was tempted, so tempted, to point out that this addendum was not included in their earlier agreement, but he needed to get her talking by any means necessary. The whole point of his game at dinner was to get her to practice for his messages. It was a thought he'd had on the way to her quarters just after he'd successfully sent messages from the Falcon to Chewie's personal comm without detection from the higher-ups in the fleet.
He was sure no one had read them. Crix and Jan would have given him hell for his blatant descriptions of their intensely romantic relationship. Untrue, as far as Han knew, but he honestly didn't give a fuck.
He figured Leia was kind of like a turbolaser: she need ammunition and power to fire. That, and she sometimes seemed embarrassed to admit she needed him in her life, even to him. Maybe especially to him. The combination meant he needed her to practice.
"Alright," he agreed, and slid his index and middle fingers through the warmth of her sex, adding just a small amount of pressure. The friction felt unbelievable and he was having trouble staying focused. "What do you want me to do?"
Leia gripped his hand through the lace. "More of that," she said.
"More of what?"
"Your fingers," she said. "When you go, leave your fingers. That's all I need from you."
He laughed outright. "That is an absolute lie, but I appreciate the sentiment." He turned his hand sideways as a reward, slipped two fingers inside her and nudged her clit with his thumb. She sighed and fluttered her eyelashes. "What else?"
She groaned, but he wasn't sure if it was his fingers or his persistence that triggered it. "Deeper," she said, and slid her hand beneath the lace. "Harder. This is too soft."
Now we're getting somewhere. "What are you gonna do about it?"
She shifted her hips against their hands. He wasn't thrusting his fingers and the slow movement of his thumb had to be driving her crazy. "Take matters into my own hands," she said, tilting her chin up with regal superiority, though he could see the flush spread across her breasts in the dull lighting.
He kissed her temple, charmed by her defiant tone. "Uh-huh," he said, and slowly, god, so slowly curled his fingers just enough to graze the inner wall that usually garnered a reaction from her.
"Fuck," she muttered and grabbed his wrist. "Please."
He did it again and lifted the hand around her waist to run his thumb against the underside of her right breast. She rolled her hips against his hand and repeated please in his favorite breathy tone.
Han was becoming a little entranced despite himself. He cock throbbed, shoved up against her as she moved. She'd already worked him up into a frenzy with her mouth. The lingering effects of halting that play were building up all over again. He was starting to confuse the point of this slow burn and his endgame. Wasn't it his job to make this good for her? Why was he torturing her? Why the hell wasn't he inside her already?
Practice. Right.
"Han," she breathed. He curled his fingers against her again, pulled them back, then quickly pushed them against her. Her weight seemed to fall onto him and he laid his palm flat over her breast for support until he knew she was stable. He repeated the motion, slow draw back and quick, fleeting touch, nothing close to enough to make her come. Just enough to drive her insane.
"Solo, fuck me," he heard her say and he felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest. Her voice was raspy: deep, pure, unadulterated sin. That was the voice he wanted from her in those messages. That was what he needed from her now. Not the words, but the uncomplicated sexuality of Leia in bed, demanding pleasure from him. Nothing less than that would make leaving her worthwhile. Nothing less than that would be worth the small doubt in her eyes when he left tomorrow.
He ran his nose down the side of her face, leaned into her neck and gently nipped the skin of her throat, just beneath her jaw. "Your wish," he said and stepped back from her to quickly get rid of his open shirt, step out of the pants pooled around his feet and kick off his boots. She swiveled on her knees to face him, sitting on her heels and eyeing him with such heat that he had to breathe carefully for a moment, just staring at her.
"Come here," she whispered, a piece of hair falling into her eyes and her hand still sitting motionless under the lace.
He lunged to the bed. She fell to her back and wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he climbed on top of her. Together they shimmied her out of the expensive lace. His skin burned where she touched him, her thighs against his, her breasts flush to his chest. He met her lips with bruising force, his hands framing her face. His hips met hers and the sensation was divine, perfect, ephemeral. He thrust against her, pulled away, then came back just to feel the heat again.
Leia moaned and extricated a hand from his shoulders to grip his cock. He lifted up from her momentarily, wrapped his hand around hers and then pushed inside her.
His brain lit on fire. His muscles spasmed. Finally, finally, he was home, where he belonged, at the altar of all he worshipped. Han didn't believe in much, but this was belonging, this was religion. Like flying, but with her.
Her breath rushed into his ear. He wrapped his hands around her back, fingers splayed over beautiful skin, and whispered her name. He couldn't see her face, he was firmly buried in her hair and neck, but he could feel her hand at the back of his head. He didn't want to leave her heat, so he made small circles against her hips and wedged a hand beneath her hip to keep her close. He just wanted her with him. Now that he was here, he didn't want to leave.
"Sweetheart," he whispered, and then listened as she breathed his name. He needed to calm down, he needed to get a handle on this sudden desperation of his. All this thought about him leaving was fucking with his brain. He was coming back. He was coming back. Of course he was coming back.
He pressed his elbow into the mattress to lift his head and look at her. Leia's eyes were dark and intent, utterly focused on him as he swept a hand over the chaos of her hair on the bunk. She hummed and arched against him, trying to make him move his hips, to thrust, but he shook his head.
She made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. "I don't like this sudden patience of yours," she said.
He rested his weight on his forearms on either side of her head and tried to grin. "Just trying to be memorable," he said.
"You've never had to try to be memorable."
His smile was more genuine now. He dug his knee into the mattress beneath her and rolled to his back, his hands on her hips as they switched places. Her eyes flashed and she tilted her head as she readjusted to her new position. She tossed her hair out of her way and slid her hands to either side of his waist. "Fine," he said. "Have at it, Princess."
"Gladly," she said, and began a nice, sustainable rhythm with her hips. Han's smile broadened, watching the play of her skin in the light, the movement of her breasts, the intensity in the set of her mouth.
He pressed his feet into the bed and began a teasing counter-rhythm, lifting his hips as she came down. This wasn't necessarily his game, but it looked like it was definitely hers tonight, her head thrown back and a light sheen of sweat catching the light on her stomach. When he moved his hands up her thighs to rest on her hips, he could feel her pace quicken, tighten, smaller circles but deeper in drive. Leia braced her hands on his chest and their pressure felt like a countdown as she thrusted in her delicious circles. Sooner or later, her rhythm would cross that line where it pulled him under with her. Not a spectator sport, but some wild thing that consumed him, too.
It didn't take her long.
She was panting now, her hips picking up speed, driving harder. His nerves sparked, reinvigorated by the sight and feel of Leia taking charge. She lifted her hands from his chest, placed them on top of his and brushed them up her torso and onto the swell of her breasts. He loved that Leia had no compunctions about showing him what she needed, not anymore. He squeezed her softly at first, then pressed his palms under them and swept his thumbs over her nipples.
She released a harsh breath. She felt like a live wire, thrumming with power, unaware of the effect she was having on him and, by the looks of it, simply not concerned about it, either. He shook his head, dropped his hands to her knees and sat up to kiss her. He slid his tongue against hers and groaned, never losing track of their rhythm, addicted to the way she let him take control. Give and take, absolutely the thing that made them work.
He wrapped his arms around her and held the back of her head steady as she gasped. Then she pressed against his chest, bringing them skin to skin and picked up their pace. With one hand behind her head and the other gripping the back of her hip, he directed her movements, feeling strung out and hyperenergetic at the same time. He felt drugged. He felt like the world around him was shattering. He felt like his body was being pulled in multiple directions at once, the tension in not just one muscle but in them all. He was light and sensation and hard, animalistic want rolled into one blessed man wrapped up in his princess.
The room darkened or his brain flickered on - he wasn't sure which - but then he heard Leia begin to chant his name, an endless string of strained, nonsense words. She was close and he was barely hanging on, whispering: sweetheart, come on, come on, come for me …
She broke, her body freezing on top of his, her thighs shaking, her pants against his ear cut off as her head dropped to his shoulder and she keened into his skin. And he found his own razor sharp line and threw himself over it with the last two thrusts of his hips, deep, hard, divine. His muscles locked in a tight frame around her as the molten rush of climax washed over him, electrifying and absolute. His skin felt taut, brain exploding into a white-hot nebula cloud, oxygen-free, gravity-free.
With his last coherent thought he fell backwards and took Leia with him. For a moment he was simply able to observe but not react. He could see Leia's hair over his face, could feel her sprawled over him in a boneless heap. But he had no opinion for any of this. He couldn't think, and that in itself was perfect. Just existing with Leia. Nothing else but being with her. That was what he wanted.
Slowly, reactions returned to him. He swept her hair out of his face, and pressed a kiss to her temple. His legs moved slower than the rest of him but eventually awareness returned to them, too.
By the time he began to feel cold, the sweat on his arms freezing in the Mon Cal climate-controlled cabin, Leia had shifted to his side. Without a word, he sat up and grabbed the top sheet and draped it over them both, then settled back down. Leia turned to her side and laid her head on the back of her hand. Her eyes looked suitably exhausted and her grin unholy in its satisfaction. He reached over and ran his hand down her arm.
Then, a shadow. "Six weeks," she said.
"Six weeks," he agreed.
She sighed and closed her eyes, turning onto her back. This was the critical moment, the only time he'd really be able to determine if he'd taken a step forward or not. Coming to her quarters, taking her to the dinner, playing nice, promising her filthy messages, tying their white-hot private relationship to their very public careers … well. If he were better at words, he could have done this with much more finesse. As it was, he'd done everything he could think to do.
I'm coming back.
She opened her eyes and spent a moment watching the ceiling. Then she turned back onto her side and sidled up against him, slipping her legs through his. Her eyes were wide and he watched her make a decision. She sighed but then smiled softly and said with a deep, confident voice: "I give you two days before you begin sending me messages."
"Two days?" he said, his anxiety fading at her smile. A step forward, then. He couldn't help his answering smile. "Care to place a wager on that?"
She shook her head. "No, because you will purposefully hold out for three just to win the bet." Leia ducked her head so that his chin rested at her crown and ran her hand up his side to his shoulder blade. "I'm telling you to message me in two days."
His chest tightened. Not a total victory, then, but he hadn't been expecting that. A step forward is all he'd really wanted. Slow and steady progress. He was, after all, in this for the long run. "You got it," he answered, and wrapped his arms around her. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "You got it."
Special thanks to HoldoutTrout, who kinda unknowingly contributed to this by our agreement that Han would be neither totally suave, nor totally embarrassing at a formal function, and to Erin Darroch, who pre-read the rough beginnings of this and made me feel like I wasn't (totally) crazy for writing it.