The Millennium Falcon undoubtedly appreciates his light touch, and Leia's coming to do the same. (Just think, he's handling her with the sort of care he normally reserves for his ship. Don't say that one out loud, Han, it won't sound like a compliment.)

She kisses him back fervently, the tip of her tongue sliding against the side of his. Beneath her wandering fingers, his body is slowly gaining familiarity: bone and muscle, skin and coarse curls of hair, the sharp little nubs of his nipples, the way his body dips inwards just below his waist. The muscles lower down in his torso seem to suggest an arrow down towards parts of him still clothed. It's on his hips that her hands linger, over the cloth of his slacks, gripping him when she can't resist rocking in towards his touch.