Considering the fight he puts up over the Falcon's honour as a general rule, Leia thinks of I'll make a list as a victory. A small one, maybe, but what a difference it would make to the ship's livability if someone (Chewie, probably) could cook actual meals, instead of being stocked to the gills with rations and freeze-dried ready-meals.

But as soon as he dips his head to kiss her, it's neither here nor there. She makes room for him between her thighs, one hand straying to the span of skin and muscle between his shoulder blades, and kisses him back hungrily when his mouth meets hers.

It doesn't really hurt when he enters her--so much for Aunt Rouge's scaremongering on that front--but it's nowhere as enjoyable as what came before. Her muscles tense a little as she adjusts to the sensation, but for the most part, she's quiet and still beneath him. Not much of a response. It's a pity she doesn't know he's waiting for one.