She certainly could have, but Leia's not in the habit of answering doors half-naked, and she's not about to start now. Besides, it's nicer to let Han do the honours. It's still incredibly pleasant to feel quite how precise his hands can be, how careful they seem when skimming over her skin. She shouldn't find it surprising to know that Han Solo's gentle beneath all that bluster--but it is, a little. Feeling it is different from knowing it.

Leia lets herself be pulled into his lap, meeting his mouth with a hungry kiss. She gets back to the very serious work of dragging his shirt from where it's still halfway tucked in to halfway up his chest. Along the way, her fingertips press into his skin, drawing decided lines over his musculature.

"Your turn," she murmurs against his mouth before drawing back just enough to do something about his clothes. It means pulling her hands away from his chest so she can push his jacket off his shoulders and pull off his shirt, but in the long run, it means a lot more of him is available to touch.