"Kest." Han leaned back in his chair and exhaled wearily as the Falcon settled into hyperspace. "Just for once, I'd like these operations to go as planned."

Leia only half-heard him from her perch in the co-pilot's chair. In muted concentration, she was retracing the events of the last few hours, determined to return to the fleet with a theory, or ideally more than a theory, about what had gone wrong. Unfortunately, Han was right. Their assignments were consistently turning out more and more thorny. Whether due to Alliance missteps, conflicted loyalties of their intelligence partners, or increased Imperial attention into their activities, the escapes were slimmer, the odds shorter, and the margins of success narrower.

When she didn't respond, he huffed in annoyance and stood up. She studied him from her seat, his restless motions enlarged in the cramped cockpit. A smattering of sandy grit clung to his face and hair. His shirt, a dark gray button-up that he had reluctantly worn to blend in at the exchange site, was smudged and untucked. Her own clothes, similarly dark-toned, were only marginally neater.

"You still here, Princess?" he checked. "You got the chip?"

"Yes." She forced herself back to the present and rose from her seat, patting the stiff disk concealed in her sleeve. It was only one of two they had expected to retrieve.

"Good," he grunted. "Hopefully Chewie's setting the trade in motion back at the hub." He stared vacantly above her head as if debating the options arrayed before them. "If the Bothans don't go for it, we'll have to sell the intel to someone else. Maybe we can work out an exchange with that colony we visited last month."

"They'll go for it," she assured him. Her relationship with the Bothan intelligence network was one of the Alliance's more fruitful ones, built on a foundation of shared experience, mutual sympathy, and blatant quid pro quo. Their contact would accept the partial delivery gracefully and return the favor by withholding information at a later date.

"Let's hope." His concern about this particular deal would have surprised her if it hadn't been consistent with his evolving demeanor. Over the past few months he had steadily become more and more serious to the point where he was now genuinely invested in the Alliance and its mission. In fact, he had changed so much since their initial encounter that she assumed — hoped — a formal commission was within grasp. It should have pleased her, this newfound commitment to the cause to which she devoted herself. But a part of her remained wary. The casual, smirking, fly-by-night attitude of his early days held the advantage of keeping her attraction to him at bay. Now that the wayward smuggler was transforming into a dedicated Rebellion fighter, there was little left to dampen the heat raging in her blood.

He was looking at her oddly and she realized she had once again neglected to hold up her side of the conversation. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" The words came out harsher than she intended. During their escape he had pulled her along roughly as they searched for a refuge on the way to the port. What had started out as a whispered debate in the tavern about their next move had turned into tense silence as they fled through the streets. One of these times, she mused, luck would not be on their side and they would resort to blaming each other if they made it out alive.

"Well." She could tell from his posture that he had given up on getting a proper response out of her. "We still have a few hours until we meet Chewie." He turned toward the hatch and she caught a flash of red peeking out from under his collar.

"Wait." Now all her senses were alert. "You're hurt. Your neck — shoulder —."

He glanced at it carelessly. "It's fine. I forgot all about it. Must have happened right after they ambushed us."

"In the tavern? What would have injured you there?"

He shrugged. "Obviously something sharp. It was dark, remember?"

"It's bleeding. You should put something on it."

"It's nothing. I'll grab some bacta after I check out the rear deflectors."

"You always demand to know if I'm all right but never bother to tell me when you're hurt —"

"Come on, you know we've both been in a lot worse shape."

"— or even let me take a proper look." She crossed the narrow space between them. "You don't know how bad it is."

He stilled when her fingers landed on his neck. Hampered by his shirt, she unhooked the top two buttons and pushed aside the collar to uncover the wound. It wasn't deep enough to be concerning, but the flesh hadn't fully congealed and the vibrant scarlet of fresh blood was still visible. She poked gently at the edge and noted his accompanying wince.

Satisfied that there was sufficient reason for concern, she worked on the remaining buttons of his shirt. The bottom one was dangerously close to his groin and she unhooked it carefully to avoid grazing the front of his trousers with her fingers. Forcing her hands back above his belt, she smoothed them lightly up his chest and then drew his shirt down his arms until it fluttered to the floor.

Neither of them spoke. Had he shifted closer or was it a trick of the light that he seemed to take up more space half-naked than clothed? She had seen him shirtless before but never at this close range, never with both of her hands alighting on his pectorals and itching to run over his lean figure.

She inhaled a steadying breath. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I don't know." His voice was dangerous. "Why don't you check for me?"

Desire pooled in the pit of her stomach. The sudden veer in tone from the start of their conversation might have upended her if it wasn't frustratingly familiar. Although they had never ventured this far into temptation, the potential was always there, like an electric current ready to discharge during the most banal of interactions. Until now they had relied on the safe but questionable logic of it's not worth getting emotionally involved, or it's too risky with such an uncertain future. She had frequently repeated those excuses to herself alone in her bunk at night. Now, though, aside from the unbridled lust coursing through her, the dominant emotion she felt was shame, shame that she, Leia Organa, leader of the galactic Rebellion, had been a kriffin' coward for so long.

Determined to counter his challenge, she tilted her head defiantly. "Fine. I will."

He exhaled over the top of her head as she began her explorations. Despite the urge to press her lips to his sternum, she restricted herself to trailing her fingers across his front, careful to map every centim of exposed skin. After crossing the expanse of his abdomen and chest she moved up to his shoulders, the muscles hard and tensed under her touch. Meandering down the front of his arms, her fingers curved a path around his biceps, dipped inside the crease of his elbow, and then followed the veins of his forearms to the newborn skin of his wrists; after circling to the back of his hands where the wiry hair began to sprout, she continued up the outside of his arms, her touch firmer and fuller than before. Drawing her hands to where they started, she caressed the tips of her fingers over his pebbled nipples before coming to a rest just below.

"I don't think," she whispered, her words muffled over the pounding in her chest, "that you're hurt anywhere else."

He was leaning down so far his nose almost rested on her forehead. She wouldn't allow herself to rise up and meet his lips. Not yet.

"And you?" His voice had dropped even lower. "You sure you don't have any injuries?"

They were daring each other, she realized, to see how far they would go before one of them backed down. During their previous interactions, any ground gained toward the longed-for destination inevitably resulted in a hasty retreat to safety. She saw it so clearly now, a synchronized effort on both their parts, almost touching in its commitment to mutual defeat.

"No." She licked her lips, drawing his gaze lower. "I'm not sure."

The corners of his mouth turned up in a predatory smile. "Then I should probably take a look."

She held her breath in anticipation of where he would touch her first. The first graze of his fingers in the furrow between her ear and her braid was enough to spark a jolt between her legs. He moved methodically, probing the skin under her hair and then down the side of her neck, his touch too light to be completely satisfying. Then around the base of her scalp, where additional fingers joined and splayed exquisitely down the back of her neck. His other hand picked up from there, circling around her neck before landing on vee of skin above her shirt. Almost absentmindedly, he circled the top button. She held herself perfectly still as he paused, teasing, for one second, two. Then, when she had almost given up hope, he unhooked the button, and then another, and then another.

Even with her eyes closed she knew her shirt was gaping open. How far would he go now that they had crossed another line?

He paused again, perhaps to offer her an out, before fingering the strap of her bra. Slowly he slipped under the band and drew it down her shoulder. Her bra cup peeled open and the heel of his hand landed just above the fabric, his fingers spanning the skin where her neck met her shoulder. His hand was larger and warmer than she had imagined as it cupped her shoulder, dipped down to her bicep and then over to her upper back.

"I don't see anything so far." The finest Alderaanian silk had nothing on his voice. "Should I keep looking?"

"No." She shook her head determinedly. "It's my turn."

This time she dared to lean her head on his chest. The muscles of his back, that previously unexplored territory, shifted tantalizingly under her hands, firm yet pliable at the same time. It was increasingly difficult to draw out her attentions; the two of them were already so far from where they started that her instincts rushed ahead impatiently. Before long her entire front was pressed against him and his fingers were moving ever so slowly over her hips. The bulge of his erection was unmistakable.

She pulled away slightly and drew her hands to the the worn leather of his belt. His abdomen twitched as the tips of her fingers brushed along it fleetingly. Holding her breath, she circled the button of his fly and pressed experimentally just beneath.

His hands closed swiftly around hers. "Princess. Leia." Her name came out in warning. "Don't start something you can't finish."

Stung, she blinked up at him. "Is that what you think? That I'm a tease?"

His manner softened marginally. "No." He swallowed. "I just want to be sure that you're, y'know, yourself."

Was she herself? If she were honest she could understand his skepticism. Two different paths stretched ahead of them; which one more accurately reflected her true self? She had often pictured that innate quality as a polished piece of sea glass deep within her, worn smooth and shiny from the elements, becoming purer as it reduced in size. How much buffeting from external circumstances could it take, she often wondered, before it eroded away entirely?

Now, though, she questioned whether her true self had ever existed in the first place. Instead of a singular Leia planted at birth, perhaps there was a multiplicity of variations that stretched forward in time, each slightly different than the rest. Her future self, the version that coalesced as others fell away, would be shaped in part by the decision facing her now.

"Let go," she whispered.

Confusion flickered before he remembered he was still holding her wrists. He opened his fingers to release them but didn't move otherwise, his body poised as if on a precipice.

Despite her certainty from mere seconds ago, a surge of insecurity welled up. Avoiding his eyes, she focused on the quick rise and fall of his chest. Perhaps he was as nervous as she was.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed her thumb across his lower lip. "Han."

His reaction was immediate. The kiss was bruising, almost painful, an attempt to leave a permanent branding of the milestone. He backed her against the edge of the chair and then with no where else to go she found herself flat on the deck with her shirt fully open. His mouth clashed again and again on hers while they both tugged at their clothes frantically.

She couldn't suppress a yelp when he entered her. Penetration was a foreign sensation, a sharp intrusion that quickly receded to a dull throb. But that throb then bloomed into something else, a swell of heat and pleasure emanating from an undiscovered place inside her. Within seconds she wanted more, wanted to join his thrusts with her own, to contribute to her pleasure and his, but her pants were tangled around her ankles and she was effectively immobilized.

"Han," she urged. "Boots — pants —." She gestured to her confinement before speech deserted her entirely.

Her words penetrated his haze and he raised himself on his elbows to peer down at her feet. In any other circumstance she would have laughed at his bewilderment, but fortunately he caught on quickly and managed to extricate a boot and pants-leg from her foot. Freed from her restraint, she sighed in relief and wrapped her ankles around his back.

With her hips tilted up like this, his thrusts landed deeper. She grasped his shoulders, his back, his buttocks above his pants. Not nearly satisfied she twisted against him, desperate to find a source of friction for the need between her legs. She didn't want to use her own hand — she was so tired of her own hand — but if he didn't catch on soon it would be too late and —

Finally. Gods, somehow he knew exactly how to touch her, how firmly to circle his fingers over her swollen nerves. It was good, so good, and she never wanted the pleasure to end but the anticipation of her climax was driving her closer to completion. "Don't stop," she managed to say, unable to bear the lessening of either his fingers or his cock, the two movements in tandem building her up higher and higher. Her body, having long been accustomed to its own stale touch, sparked in confusion at the ministrations of someone else, of Han no less, her long-held fantasy very much in the flesh.

"Leia." He gasped harshly above her head. "You close, Sweetheart?"

Yes, she thought desperately, her arousal peaking even higher. She couldn't see him and didn't want to come like this, her face hidden away from his, an anonymous, clinging body. Tugging at his hair, she managed to maneuver his head level with hers. He pressed harder with his hand and then her climax was upon her, unrelenting in its intensity, and she couldn't focus on him but at least he could witness it and share in it with his own.

They collapsed in a heap of sweaty limbs. She caught a glimpse of his wound, redder and angrier than before. "Your shoulder," she murmured.

"It'll keep." He dotted a kiss on her hairline.

Neither of them made a move to get up. Her shirt was scrunched under her back and offered little protection from the rigidity of the deckplates. She pressed her legs together to keep their fluids from seeping onto her thighs.

"Leia." He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. "Was that your —?"

It's just Han, she reminded herself. Closing her eyes, she nodded.

When she opened them he was looking down at her softly. "Come here."

The floor fell away as he scooped her to his chest. Emotions ricocheted through her as he carried her out into the corridor — self-consciousness, elation, relief, tenderness toward him and toward the two of them now that they had finally figured this out — and then, hindered by his sagging pants, he lurched into the wall with a curse and she burst out laughing.

"Uh-uh, Princess," he scolded when she gamely tried to assist by groping for his waistband. "You just hang on to me. Otherwise we're both gonna end up on the floor again."

"That wouldn't be so bad." She felt like a child, trapped in the middle of a giggling fit. "Where are you taking us?"

"Where do you think?"

Shaking with laughter she buried her face in his neck as he stumbled through the hatch of his cabin. The last steps were navigated without incident and before her back hit the bunk his mouth was covering hers. Without breaking their kiss, he managed to tug off her other boot and strip away their remaining clothes while her hands roamed unabashedly over his shoulders and back.

"Now," he murmured, working his way down her neck. "We'll do it properly this time."

"I don't know." More giggles escaped as he skated his lips over her breasts. "I kind of liked the improper way."

"Yeah?" He grinned up at her.

Men don't like being laughed at in bed, she thought. But Han took her giddiness in stride, patiently soothing her with his fingers and lips and tongue until her laughter died down and ceased entirely.

Before long her hips were rolling in response to his attentions. She expected him to continue his descent down her body, but instead he nudged her hip. "Turn over," he murmured. "I never checked your back."

She had forgotten the pretense that had started this whole sequence. Settling on her front, a shudder escaped as he kissed up her spine. She had heard about some women having sensitive backs, but the exquisiteness of his touch surpassed anything she could have anticipated. Within minutes, she was moaning into the mattress and felt his corresponding smirk on her ear.

"Need something, Princess?" he teased.

Oh, for —. "Han," she hissed. Groping behind her, she was relieved to find him hard and hot in her grasp. "What are you waiting for?"

He settled more firmly on top of her. "Didn't want to rush it this time," he mumbled. His fingers tested between her legs. "But if you're ready —"

The entry was less jarring the second time. She could tell that he was restraining himself and she was grateful, for he was already bottoming out deeper in this position. He adjusted their bodies so they were half on their sides which allowed her to draw a leg up to brace herself. Gods, yes, like that, she thought or perhaps moaned out loud. She was half-dazed with pleasure, with being enveloped by him, with his thrusts hitting just right.

Her climax rose tantalizingly slow and broke gently in a diffuse wave. Incoherent noises floated from behind her before he clutched her so tightly there was no longer any separation between their bodies.

He draped himself on her like a sprawling feline, sated and drowsy from the hunt.

What now, she couldn't help thinking. An image of him in an Alliance uniform materialized unbidden and not just as a sexual fantasy. She tried to banish it from her mind. Don't look too far ahead.

The hum of the hyperdrive was annoyingly persistent. "How much longer do we have?" she finally asked.

"About an hour." His hand drifted lower. "Can I interest you in a shower?"

"Depends. Can you keep your hands to yourself?"

"'Course not."

Her giddiness threatened to return. "In that case, yes."

He kept his non-promise which resulted in her redoing her braids at the lounge table afterwards. She was watching him leisurely as he wandered in and out of the space when her comm went off.

She dug it out of her pants pocket. "It's the fleet. They're wondering if we made the trade yet."

"Did you tell them about the botched pick-up?"

"No." She sighed. "Yet another thing to explain when we get back."

He glanced over sharply. "Another thing?"

Kriff. "I didn't mean it like that. Just that — this," she gestured vaguely, "introduces new complications. Potentially."

He looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be offended or not. "Yeah. I guess."

Clearly it was too late to avoid the question of what to do after they returned. His silence was obtrusive in its unobtrusiveness. She flailed internally for an answer, for something that made sense within the constraints of her life and her hoped-for future, then gave up and headed for the cockpit.

"You got the chip?" The glinting spokes of the Tallis hub filled the viewport.

"Yes." Back to business as usual. The war wouldn't pause for a dalliance, no matter how profound.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, steering them closer, "the Bothans have been useful allies. Perhaps we should offer them more than just the one chip."

She stared at the pattern of lights around the docking entrance and turned over a proposal in her head. "We could tell them we have another lead. That colony over in the Nuubian sector."

He nodded. "They were receptive when we were there last. Maybe we can promise them something. Additional security systems in exchange for intel of interest to your Bothan contact."

She strained to recall the details of that visit. "They mentioned there were structures going up in a nearby district. The speed of the construction was surprising."

"I remember. Possibly a new munitions plant."

Instructions were relayed between the hub's landing crew and the Falcon. Han eased off the throttle as he began the final approach.

"It would just be for a few days," she declared.

"Yeah." He adjusted the stabilizers to center them in the landing path. "Four, maybe five. A week at most."

A week of this, with him. What she wouldn't give.

"And Chewie?"

"We can ask him what he wants to do. Come with us or hang out at the hub."

I wonder if he'll know, she mused. Whether he has a sixth sense about this sort of thing.

Neither of them spoke as they glided into the docking bay. Han locked the landing gear and set the Falcon down gently.

Another choice, another set of paths, another self waiting at the end. "Maybe we could," she said, almost to herself. "If we dare."

She turned in time to catch his wink. "It's you and me, Princess." His crooked smile grew wider. "I think we do."

A/N: Help, I can't stop writing first-time AUs.