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Spices

There were, by virtue of the vast litany of events and experiences in the galaxy, hundreds of ways to be unexpectedly woken up – there were the more routine ways, such as alarm clocks or the smell of kaffe, and there were the more extreme ways – blaster fire, explosions, thunderstorms, other inexplicable jolts – but for all it was worth, and for all the abrupt ways he'd been jarred awake, by far the best he could recall was the shock of warm intensity, the slow burn of hot arousal through his blood, that lulled him out of sleep when she graced him with her mouth on his cock.

It was not a frequent occurrence; though Leia's lips were as prolific in her foreplay as they were in her sharp-tongued diplomacy, sunrise blowjobs were coveted moments – treats, and frequency diminished the appeal of treats – but when she did it, when she woke him up like this –

There was always a startling moment in which he thought he was dreaming – not an uncommon dream, even after they got together, she had the kind of hair that begged a man to indulge in oral fantasies – he'd catch his breath hard, hands clutching at the sheets, only to find she'd ripped them off, kicked them down the bed, exposed them both to cool morning air and trailed kisses down his chest, down his navel, and claimed him – no, not a dream.

Not a dream in the truest sense of the word, but she was a dream – her mouth was a dream, her tongue a fantasy, the unbelievable soft-rough way she used her teeth was, was –

Han tilted his head back into the pillows, his head hitting against the headboard. He twisted his fingers in her hair desperately, alternating between softly, gently massaging her scalp, and pulling hard, enough to encourage her without hurting her.

Her hands moved over his thighs and his hips, running up over him in a tantalizing massage, and then drifting down between his legs to augment her mouth. She was devastating in every sense of the word – damned if he couldn't feel the slow, vixen smirk on her lips as she worked him with her tongue –

- and she'd stop, ease back, let him suffer, press soft, barely-there kisses to the inside of his thighs and the slope of his hip bone, waiting for him to gruffly beg her to have mercy – come on, Sweetheart, finish, or get up here and fuck me, 'm losin' it, you're killin' me -

His fingers in her hair were lazy and yet possessive, strong but reverent, and he closed his eyes tight, seeing bright white starbursts as he resisted the urge to thrust his hips – patience, patience would earn him the world –

Leia's knuckles kneaded into his thigh, massaging primly, and he grit his teeth, shifting his hips, shifting one of his legs so that his knee was bent upwards. His hands brushed over her hair, fingertips brushing her temples, then plunging back into her hair tightly.

He groaned, dizzy, his muscles aching with the effort he exerted to make it last, existing in the desire to feel her lips on him all morning, to have her there forever, while she drove him to the edge and dug her heels in, overwhelming him –

Han thrust his head back again, his jaw tightening; Leia withdrew her mouth momentarily, her elbow resting near his hip, her hand brushing her own cheek fetchingly as she looked over him appraisingly, watching him – she curled her hand around him, palm warm and tight, sliding her hand over him in a teasing, drawn out twist, her lips lingering close enough that he felt the warmth of her breath –

"Han," she called coquettishly. "Look at me."

He turned his head to one side, then disentangled one of his hands and brought it up to his face, wiping sweat off his brow, pushing his hair back, and biting his thumb before he lifted his head to look at her.

Eye contact, and she lowered her lashes, her lips pursed innocently, slipping her hand under his hips to dig her nails into his lower back – she lifted her legs, crossed them at the ankle, and gazed back at him seductively, stretched out between his thighs, her knees touching the edge of the bed, draped over him. Eye contact, and her mouth was on him again, lashes fluttering – it was unbearably sensual, and Han could only stand to watch her for a handful of seconds, before he dropped his head harshly back to the pillow, throwing it back again –

"Fuck," he swore, his hand shaking as it found its way back to his hair – both of his hands, twisting and knotting in her dark mane – "Leia," he groaned softly, his breathing roughening sharply – "Fuck, Leia, your – mouth, you're – 'm – gonna – "

Come – he couldn't finish the sentence, but warnings were a thing of their past, and she had never abided by them anyway – he felt, for the barest hint of a moment, a touch of the back of her throat – and that was it, his undoing, his unraveling – his hands tight in her hair, and her mouth tight around him, unrelenting until the moment he relaxed with a soft grunt – likewise her hands relaxed, and he was still seeing white lights and spinning stars when he felt her move aside and take a deep breath, resting her forehead lightly against his hip.

He'd never spent much of his life imagining what a religious experience was like, but he was sure that the secret to seeing God was in the back of Leia's throat.

She shifted, moving over him, sliding her body over his as he struggled to catch his breath and cool his blood – she rested on top of him lightly, one leg tucked gingerly between his, the other carelessly slipping off the bed, in a most elegant definition of haphazard.

She watched him, her face flushed, lips swollen, eyes bright – her hair tumbling over her shoulders, tangled with the obvious ministrations of his fingers, and she brushed her knuckles against his jaw, waiting for him to open his eyes and look at her – and when he did, she smiled softly.

"The way you stroke my hair when I go down on you – " she trailed off, biting her lip – I love it.

She smiled at him a moment longer, then touched her nose to his, and rolled off of him to her back, sighing contently, taking deep breaths next to him. He turned closer to her, pulling her close and pressing his face into her neck, his voice raw, and awed, when he mumbled his appreciation, and then nipped at her jaw, flirting with her –

"You always swallow, Sweetheart," he murmured, low and enticing – "You know…how hot it gets me?"

Leia turned her head to look at him, her tongue between her teeth –

"I've always liked Corellian spices."

Han's laughter was husky, and arousing, and her skin flushed pink, and powerful, reaching over to run her fingers through his hair, and pull hard, reveling in the private abandon they shared.

i can't believe the longest installment of this series has been about a blowjob.

-alexandra