Her eyes slip shut as he touches her. It's Han at his gentlest, and his touch feels impossibly right: his calluses, his warmth, the familiarity of his movements.

"Han," she murmurs. It's painfully unfair, having him so near and knowing it can't possibly last. Some part of her is starting to wonder whether it could--but that's asking something huge of him. Something she's not sure she could fairly demand of anyone, let alone someone Darth Vader tortured. "Han, don't--"

Don't tease me like this.