a/n: some language in this one. specifically, the 'c' word, if that bothers anyone.

Legs

There was a time in her life when the idea of having a man's heads between her legs had – not repelled Leia, but perplexed her; in the halcyon days of youth, when whispered schoolgirl stories had taught her the many things men and women did to each other in bed – things that far exceeded the perfunctory technicalities her mother had told her about – she had learned of the act with a quick, blushing thought of – that can't be sanitary, and for star's sake, what is the point –

The point, it turned out, was abandonment and bliss, and often – as often as Han's head was buried between her thighs, his tongue tracing spirals of primal magic against her – she lamented the prudish skepticism of her younger self, as she twisted her hands into her husband's thick, golden brûlée hair and arched into his mouth with only a vague concern that she might suffocate him.

The back of her head rocked against the headboard as she tilted her chin up, her vision blurry, lashes fluttering helplessly. Han's palms slid over her stomach, brushing possessively over her abdomen to feel her skin, slick and taut beneath his touch – and then drifted to her hips, grasping her thighs tightly, pinning one leg over his shoulder – the sheer contortion of it was thrilling – having an interest only in men, Leia herself was mildly put off the idea of this act in particular, couldn't imagine having an affinity for it, or considering it more than a necessary reciprocation –

- yet Han seemed to relish it, a character trait for which she sometimes wanted to worship him -

His stamina was intoxicating, his tongue an elegant weapon, rough and soft all at once, and as her lips parted and she dissolved into sharp, wanton sounds that no well-bred Princess should be making, she marveled at the sensation of Han's ambitious attempt to taste her heart and soul through her cunt –

She felt the intensity in her fingertips, deep in her bones, in her blood, her cells, in the tight, aching heat in her stomach.

"Han," she moaned – her voice was hoarse, but she'd be screaming if she could – this was the privacy of their bedroom, was it not?

He acknowledged her with a charming, appreciative moan of his own, a tighten of his fingertips on her thigh, and when she clenched her legs around his neck in a rough, breath-taking convulsion, he rubbed his hand over her thigh appreciatively, palm delivering a teasing little smack.

She dug a heel into him.

She stroked her fingers through his hair, alternating between guiding his head and letting him take the lead, her lips moving, breath irregular –

"Han, yes, honey, you're so good – " she murmured, the ache in her abdomen reaching a fever pitch – she gasped, losing her voice, hands loosening and tightening in his hair, slipping away from his head altogether to brush at her stomach and thighs –

He caught one of her hands in his and squeezed, tightly, the touch slick and warm, and a sound of shattering satisfaction burst from her lips, a sound Han echoed, however muffled – she came, and his response was a calculated, slow cessation of his aggressive oral ministrations, until he was pressing feathery, soothing kisses to every inch of her, the juncture of her thighs, tops of them, her sweat-sheened abdomen.

Han kissed his way up her stomach and sternum, moving slowly, breathless himself, his chest moving with gentle, controlled panting as he hovered over her, watching her face, lowering his head to wipe his mouth on the crushed pillows behind her.

She turned her head to kiss him, her hand shaking as she reached over to stroke his neck and clutch his shoulder tightly, her legs pressed together and folded under him –

"I love you," she declared fiercely, her tongue moving over his lips, dizzy with the taste of herself in his mouth – "Ooh, ooh, Han, I love you – "

"Yeah, yeah," he drawled smugly, flashing a scoundrel grin as he leaned in to give her a harder kiss, utterly content to end things here for a while, if not for the night –

She caught his cheek in her hand, her eyes bright –

"You like doing that?" she asked – or said – stated? The words came out of her mouth, accusatory and amused at once, fascinated – so many countless times he'd fucked her with his tongue, and she'd never asked if it was fetish, fantasy, or –

He made a quiet noise against her lips, pressing his forehead hard into hers.

"To you," he answered huskily, drawing in a deep, satisfied breath, his nose nudging into her cheek – "You taste," he mumbled, taking another deep breath – "fucking…incredible."

The blush on her skin was deep and flourishing, and so was the arousal that spiked through her again, riding the waning crest of her climax, igniting something all over again –

"You're biased," she whispered.

He shrugged.

"Do you feel good?" he asked.

Laughing, she nodded, her lashes fluttering. She traced her hand over his jaw, and Han looked at her intently, his eyes warm, and filled with a heady smoke of lust. He pressed closer to her, nudging her legs apart and settling between her legs comfortable –

"You feel good, I feel good," he murmured, and then lifted his head to give her a seductive wink – "and 'm a leg guy, baby," he drawled playfully.

Leia tilted her head back and laughed, hugging his head affectionately against his neck – he pressed a kiss there, and it was tender and wholesome, and so was the rest of it, when it was within the confines of this kind of love, rather than a whispered abstract of tittering school girls.

The End

thanks for reading!
-alexandra