Gawk
Pre-ESB, Hoth
The boarding ramp was solid under her feet and Leia thought about how it might be the only part of the Millennium Falcon that was consistently unbroken. The hyperdrive sometimes failed, the sublight drives, the navicomputer, shields, turrets, inertial compensator, targeting, booster drives, life-support system and the backup life-support system: all had all failed Han Solo and Chewbacca while Leia had been aboard.
Hunk of junk, indeed, Leia thought fondly.
The hatch was open at the top of the ramp and she stepped through with a huff. Hoth was cold, damn it, and the Falcon always felt like a reprieve. Funny that the environmental controls never seemed to fail on-planet, only when the threat of freezing in vacuum loomed.
She caught herself with a small smile, tucked it into her cold mask. The Falcon was warm, humming beneath her feet, as she made a circuitous route to the hold. She hoped Han was there and not ... showering or sleeping or in a more personal state. The hold was safer than his cabin. Or the cockpit. Or the turrets.
Things had progressed in a confusing way the past few days. Han had acted with a modicum of civility, had been kind, funny yesterday when she had offered him the list of available supply runs. And she hadn't known how to respond without the sarcastic quips and the cocked eyebrow. He had a habit of eliciting the most confrontational reflexes she had and without those reflexes she had to stagger into a sweeter disposition, too. And what the hell was that, anyway?
She shook her head and doubled down on her resolve. She was here to test the waters of this newer friendship, to see if it had held strong through the dark night. And if it had….
Well. She wasn't betting on it.
"Han?" she called as the first notes of a thumping bass hit her ears. Music?
No response. Leia walked through the ring corridor, following the bass-line, wondering if this was the first time she'd ever caught the crew of the Falcon playing music. She couldn't quite place the song, snatches of muffled lyrics hit her ears but they weren't familiar. It had the tenor of Core-World pop and that nearly forced her smile.
The first thing she saw was skin. Glistening skin, tan in the darker lights of the old ship, rippling as if by exertion. The sight glimmered and then came into focus and now there was a chest, pectoral muscles, a spattering of hair. A column of muscles expanding and contracting under, yes, exertion because she had to follow the skin up and down as it completed a chin-up.
Leia's mouth was dry.
She followed the line of skin to arms, powerful arms, biceps and triceps and forearms and shoulders oh my goddess shoulders, round and straining as his body moved up and down, up and down. Isolated from the extension of his arms, his shoulders were steady, only under strain because of the sweat that dotted the bronze.
He was turned slightly away from her and now she ran her eyes from shoulders down to the smooth line of his back. Ripples of muscle entranced her, she could feel her eyes widen, felt her mouth open, a harsh exhale. Smooth, tanned skin, touchable, kissable, in the light.
She thought about skin, about lips against that skin. Thought about hair tickling her tongue, thought about fingertips on muscle, pressing in, feeling give and pull and action. Thought about wrapping around that body like a Chandrilian watersnake, but no, no, not a snake. Like a breathless lover, like a partner.
No.
Eyes moved downward to a tapered waist, begging for a palm. She could grip that skin, run her fingernails over it, watch him shiver, watch that skin prickle. And then from there she could slip down, down, down beneath the edge of the line of trousers. Where was the belt? Oh, hell, where was the belt? Because that was always the stop in her thinking when her thoughts tumbled into this hurricane. She could let herself watch the line of skin but the belt was the warning signal for her to stop. Stop, Leia. Stop.
But no belt. No thick, leather line of warning. Cotton, blue today, hanging low enough to see small indents in the left hip. Tan skin from shoulder to fingers, from chest down to forbidden hips. Goddess, he was bronze all over, she could tell now, because without that belt, hidden skin was revealed.
She licked her lips. Bit into cheek. Flexed her jaw to keep quiet but the small, wordless sound came out anyway, breathy, low, and full of need.
The muscles all contracted, all of them, seized in triggered response. Chest to hands, and now she could also see abdominal definition and that was when her brain stopped, at the vee of muscle suddenly available to her because he turned, jumped down, boots hitting the deck.
Her eyes shifted up, found his, the acknowledgement that they both existed in this moment together.
"Princess?"
His voice.
She couldn't think, why couldn't she think? All she could process was sensation, the deep notes from his throat, that skin that begged for her lips, her tongue, the sweat that wetted the ends of his rebellious hair, falling into his green eyes, wide and on hers, oh sweet mother how did the bottle-green erupt into such heat when they found hers ….?
"Leia," he said.
Her name triggered something else, and it was enough of a jolt to quick-start her mind.
"Yes?" she said, automatic, a response, and she wanted to kick herself.
"You okay?"
She was not.
"I… have a question about the mission tomorrow," she said.
She wondered what that question was. Her brain and her mouth were not on speaking terms at the moment.
He waited, then cocked an eyebrow. "Ask away."
She licked her lips again, and her brain suddenly clunked back into working order. "Do we need additional fuel for the Falcon?"
The bottle-green slid to the side and came back to her face as he finished his mental calculations. "Nah. The auxiliary fuel cells should be good."
She nodded, strained to keep her eyes on his and no lower. No lower, Leia. Definitely no lower. "Good," she said with a nod.
The conversation, whatever it had been, ended and Leia's warning bells erupted entirely too late. She turned on her heel and tried an escape velocity that was noticeably hurried. So hurried, in fact, that her boot slipped.
And she fell. Embarrassingly slow, like a dream. She had more mental focus in this two second window than she had had in the past minute. She could take in the rivets in the Falcon's hull, saw the seam of alloy, heard her exhale over the bass notes and where was the music coming from, anyway?
Warmth surrounded her, that was all she knew. Warmth and skin, slick with sweat, arms wrapped around her torso, caught her. And now she could taste his sweat in the air, the musk and addictive salt-tang of exertion and effort. It surrounded her, a most delicious suffocation, and she wanted to fill her lungs with it.
She closed her eyes, embarrassed, but let him surround her, hold her weight for the briefest of seconds before she pushed away. Turned. Stepped to create distance but there was no distance now that she'd been there. Like a blow to her stomach, the mark had been made, fantasy turned to reality, and now there was fodder for the daydreams she hadn't realized she had harbored.
"Sure you're okay?" he asked, and no, oh no, there was humor in the bottle-green.
She was caught. He knew.
"Fine," she spit out.
Defense system slammed back down with the force of Echo Base's shield doors. There was no warmth, there was no sweat. A pilot had answered her question and she had so much more to do..
Her steps matched the rhythm of that damn music and she took her leave, almost to the bend in the corridor before he spoke.
"You asked me that question yesterday."
She stopped. Took a breath. Summoned all her thoughts into one blasted response. "This ship does not inspire confidence, Captain. The answer might have changed."
Her tone was so haughty, so obnoxiously superior that it almost protected her from the sound of Han's low laugh that accompanied her around the corridor, out the hatch, and down the reliable ramp.
Oh, no, she thought, over and over, reliable in its intensity. Oh, no.
