Leia doesn't have enough hands for everything she wants: holding him close, sliding her fingers along the length of his cock, running her fingers through his hair, stroking his cheeks and the sharp angle of his jaw. There's so much of him to touch and so many things she wants to convey through her fingertips. So many things she can begin to say, even if she hasn't figured out the words yet.

She contents herself with a hand on his back and one on his cock, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she returns him to the rhythm they'd found when she'd been on the verge of coming.

"It's a mess, isn't it," she murmurs, her voice a breath away from a laugh as Han's fingers get caught in her hair. She doesn't really need an answer--with the way it pulls, she knows it's started to tangle. "You can help me brush it out later."

Possibly he'll like that idea. He's been strangely--sweetly--enamoured of her hair all night so far, and she can't deny that she likes the thought of him running a brush through it with that serious intensity he's taken to using where she's concerned.