This ficlet is M-rated for sexual content.


Slow.

A slow smile. Full lips and long hair and blazing hot expression: she looked at him through the black sweep of her eyelashes. Leia's eyes were fire on his. Han knew, he knew, she was in control now. Without reservation and without any argument from him.

"Come here," she said, crooking a finger.

He tried to maintain his confident swagger, but the way she was staring at him made it tough. Her dark eyes were locked on his, deep and sharp and knowing. Sometimes when she looked at him like this, he thought about power, about strength and control. Seduction by way of capability. There wasn't another being in the universe that presented such an enigmatic appeal to him.

"You issuing royal decrees?" he asked. His voice was tight, strained.

In response, she crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. Wearing a simple dress, deep red and modest, the spirit of her sexuality looked effortless. She wasn't hanging all over him. Leia never did: she never had to. She was the master of her own cool fire, and his blood ran hot as he looked at her lips, her eyes, her bare arms resting comfortably on the arms of the chair.

Leia in charge was a thing of beauty. Leia in charge was like hanging onto a hurtling speeder: you just hoped you survived the experience and then desperately wanted to do it again.

"Absolutely," she answered him, standing up and walking toward him.

Years had passed since they had started this back-and-forth game. While he'd had more experience in seduction than she did at the beginning, she'd quickly picked up her own unique playbook. After a few rounds, Leia had become delightfully unpredictable. Secure in their relationship now, she was every bit the calm, confident woman in their bed as she was out of it.

He'd misjudged the dress. As she moved, the silk clung to her body the way water did when she came out of the shower. The high neckline had deceived him: she was covered up and on full display simultaneously and something about that contradiction punched him hard in the gut. Her shoulders were bare, toned arms hanging at her sides in feigned nonchalance.

Her eyes were still burning, though. Dark. Bare. Unfathomably beautiful. She killed him.

"Interesting," she murmured as she drew closer to him. "You aren't supposed to ignore a royal decree."

Han tilted his head, confused for a moment. Then he remembered the thread of their conversation and hitched his thumbs into his belt. "Never been one to follow orders," he said, eyeing Leia as she stopped right in front of him.

"You don't say?" she said.

Placing both hands on his chest, Leia leaned in and walked him backwards to the empty dining room chair behind him. He sat, hands on her hips as she climbed astride him and pushed her fingers through his hair.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to lend a hand," he said. His voice was barely a croak, but he tried to keep a cocky grin in place as his hands found the silk beneath the silk, his palms gliding up the back of her thighs under the dress.

Using her grip, she tilted his head back and rose up until her eyes were just above his. A role reversal in height. It made him grin.

"Any requests?" she asked. "Before you start obeying?"

Han watched her eyes, not feeling diminished in the least. "Not a single one," he answered. "Go for it."

She dipped her head and sat back down on his thighs, bringing her mouth to the skin just above his pulse point. He groaned, feeling the sweep of her tongue just under his jaw, creating a sharp torque in his chest, a force of desire as hot as a star. He moved his hands from the back of her thighs to the swell of her hips, pulling her closer to him. The silk of her dress slid along the back of his hands and she moved her attention to the other side of his jaw.

God, but she was brutal with that mouth of hers.

"What's your plan?" he asked. Her lips found a place on his Adam's apple that made him jerk in the chair. "Bed?"

At his own suggestion, Han's brain immediately devolved into fantasy, imagining her slight weight on top of him, rocking her hips quickly–so quickly–a sheen of sweat across her neck, over her breasts. Her voice, breathy and low, demanding that he stay there, yes, there, oh….

"No," she mumbled, and swept her lips up to his ear, rising up on her knees again. "I don't want the bed."

He leaned back into the chair, letting his elbows rest on the wooden arms. The chair wasn't large; leaning back gave them the dual advantage of forcing Leia's knees to slide closer to his hips and her arms to grab and hold onto his biceps.

"Hmm," he said. "Shower?"

His mind spiraled again: his hands wrapped around her thighs, pressing her against the fresher wall, water sluicing over her skin, deep, her arms around his neck, her voice crying out as he went deeper deeper deeper—

"No," she said again, and her tongue swept over the shell of his ear. She snaked her hands from his biceps to his shoulder to the sides of his head, tipping it back so that he was looking at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. Between sweeps of her tongue, he could hear her deep breaths, could feel the expanse of her chest pressed against him. "Not the shower, either."

"Huh," he said, closing his eyes. "Okay. Where then?"

She paused, pulled away, breathed against his lips until he opened his eyes again. Her eyes came to him first, then her lips and the soft, dangerous smile he fucking adored.

My wife, he thought. My insane, brilliant wife.

"Follow me," she whispered and Han didn't dream of doing anything else.


Author's Note: Written for HanOrganaas.