straightouttacarbonite | a galaxy far, far away . . . .

The galaxy never seems so wide as when you're stuck with a busted hyperdrive, but after their tentative, long-awaited encounter in the cockpit, Han finds he's not terribly bothered by crawling along toward Bespin. It's selfish, he knows, but it's not like he can do anything to speed the journey up; they might as well enjoy themselves. Take their time, since they've got time whether they want it or not.

Eager as he is, Han doesn't press the issue immediately. Eventually they laughed and shrugged their shirts back on and she kissed him again, sweetly, and left about halfway through his shift. Frankly, he was surprised she'd been willing to go that far, when before then it had always been heated looks followed by cold shoulders, when she'd run away right after letting him kiss her. He can't be in a hurry, not after that. He'd let her go and spent the rest of his shift grinning stupidly at the stars. No complaints.

Now, he's let her sit a while with the memory of his mouth on her, and judging from the looks they exchange as they go about their business, she's not regretting it. So he plans ahead, a little. He manages to talk Chewie into taking a long shift just in case (this involves a fair amount of good-natured growling about the princess' poor life choices) and to keep Threepio out of the way, and he finds one last bottle of wine hidden away in the hold, and goes to knock on the door of the crew quarters.

Hell, if she's sleeping, he's gonna feel really silly.

Edited 2016-03-28 19:43 (UTC)

It's a good thing she's not actually sleeping at this point, just getting ready for bed. Leia's pulling off her shirt when she hears the knock at the door. For a moment, she freezes, trying to remember if she missed a shift in the pilot's seat--but no, it's Chewie right now, isn't it? Letting the fabric drop back over her, she calls, "Come in."

Her cheeks grow warm when she sees just who it is. She hasn't been avoiding Han by any means, but there hasn't been a moment quite like the one they'd shared a few days ago. That he hasn't pressed for anything more than a smile or two hasn't gone unnoticed by her; she's vacillated between gratefulness and disappointment since then.

(Just think, she tells herself ruefully, on a night when the memory of his callused fingers makes sleeping more difficult than usual, you would have killed for this a few weeks ago.)

"Someone's up to no good," she says, glancing at the bottle he's carrying.

"I don't know who, I'm up to nothing but good."

Granted, his intentions could be questionable depending on one's perspective, but he feels pretty good about them. His aim is for her to feel pretty damn good, too, so where's the harm there?

Han has made a lot of rash decisions in his life, has been the subject of plenty. He's been giving her space because that isn't what he wants from this, because she deserves better and he couldn't stand to be a regret. The faint flush of her cheeks is appealing, doesn't seem unwelcoming, but it's not a proper invitation either. As always he's trying his luck.

He takes a step closer, offering her the bottle.

"I always try to keep something on hand for bribes."

Leia raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to take the bottle from him. "Just what do you need a bribe for?"

Not much, when it comes down to it. He's as welcome a presence in the crew quarters as anywhere else, and especially so when there's no one to interrupt them. She's spent more time than she'd like to admit remembering the nicest moments from the last time they were alone together. Recreating them, especially with some wine on hand, sounds like a better idea than trying to sleep on this narrow, lumpy mattress.

She slides over a little on her bunk, tucking her feet beneath her. There's not much space there, but it's enough for him to sit if he'd like to. Consider yourself invited, flyboy.

"You never know what kinda trouble you might get into."

Right now he's not planning on bribing her, except maybe with the warm memories of the other day, the promise of more to come. It's a little different now, the way he looks at her; no less intent, but softer around the edges. Checking the door absently-- not that he expects to be interrupted, but it doesn't hurt to be doubly sure-- he comes to sit beside her. There's not much space, but he'd make a point of sitting too close if they had a whole planet to stretch out on right now.

"Maybe not." She watches him glance back at the door--good choice, Solo--and take the few steps necessary to sit beside her. He's all warmth, even through his clothes, and she recalls of the feel of him beneath her when his arm brushes against her shoulder.

After a moment's stiff-backed consideration, she leans into him a little. It's the sort of movement that feels overwhelmingly artificial to her when she's thinking about it; hopefully the wine will bury that instinct to be so conscious of everything she does. "The only trouble I see right now is if you don't have a corkscrew."

She's not the only one who's been thinking back on their time together. Keeping a little distance makes it easier to put aside her hands sliding under his shirt, the way she'd spoken his name-- soft, then louder than she meant to. It's distracting. He wants more.

Even if she's a little awkward, he smiles as she leans against him. It's all right if it takes a while for this to feel comfortable. The wine can't hurt.

"Good point."

Slowly, without moving his gaze from hers, Han leans close, his lips parted very slightly, until they're nearly brushing hers...

And then he pulls the corkscrew from his pocket. What? He had to lean over.

(The real problem is he forgot to bring cups.)

Leia stares up at him, her breath heavy in her lungs, as he comes closer and--ugh, of course all he was doing was fishing the corkscrew out of his pocket. The disappointment is obvious on her face for a moment, and then she realizes as much and glances back down at the wine.

She holds the bottle out to him, the back of one hand brushing deliberately against his thigh. "I'm guessing you know your way around one of those."

(So does she, as it happens, but that's irrelevant for the moment.)

Hey, if he didn't tease a little he wouldn't be the scoundrel she likes so damn much. Though it's hard to be very amused by the way her face falls. And here he'd thought he might be moving too quickly if he'd kissed her there.

He touches her arm, lets his fingertips trail over her hand until he can grasp the bottle, eyes on her until the moment he has to look down at what he's doing. Though with the heat of her hand against his leg, he's ridiculously tempted to say the hell with it, drop the bottle, probably make an enormous mess, and get on with kissing her.

But he doesn't. The cork comes loose with a soft pop, and he hands the bottle back.

He's very good at being a scoundrel--she'll give him that, at least. And a rather generous one, at that, letting her take the bottle back for the first sip. She can still feel the ghost of his fingers over her skin, nearly as weighted as his gaze upon her. Everything he's done since knocking at the door has had a new studiousness to it, as if he's decided that if this is going to happen, he's going to do it with absolute purpose.

"I'm guessing you don't have any cups in that pocket," she says, but the fact that they're drinking like scoundrels isn't really a deterrent. She brings the bottle to her lips and tips it back with the sort of precision that might suggest this isn't her first time stuck somewhere without stemmed glasses. After a pull, she offers it back to Han, her tongue flicking out to catch an errant drop of wine at the corner of her mouth.

If this is going to happen-- and needless to say, he very much wants that-- he's going to be serious about it. Not too serious, because there are some things too serious to be serious about, but if they're doing this, she has to know he means it as more than just a way to fill the time between here and Cloud City.

But he's never been particularly quiet about what he wants. Still.

Rather than answer he takes the bottle back and drinks, watching her mouth. Still not subtle, Solo.

This time when he leans in he's not reaching for his pocket, and he doesn't plan to disappoint her.

It's going to happen, because she decided it would when he showed up in her doorway--oh, so this is how we'll do things--and once Leia Organa's set her mind to something, it gets done. So far, tonight lacks a sense of the spontaneity of their last tryst, but she doesn't mind that. The fact that it all feels premeditated suits her.

It doesn't do anything to quell the vague, frustrating sense of self-consciousness, though, nor does her sudden realization that his attention has shifted down from her eyes. She bites down on her lower lip, which doubtless doesn't help anything. As much as she's used to having the attention of others, the open stare of one very desirable man is a sort she's still getting used to. It's those scant moments before their first kiss all over again.

She's relieved when he shifts his weight again, wasting no time in snaking an arm around his neck to pull him to her in a kiss. The flavour of the wine clings to his mouth, adds to the taste of him.

Half of him had been set on waiting for her to make the next move, but neither of them is a master of patience. Action suits them both better than contemplation or conversation, so here he is. Extremely premeditated, but only because he wants the space to be spontaneous without worrying about interruption.

The way she bites her lip is shy but not hesitant, and overwhelmingly charming. He kisses her greedily, far more interested in this than the wine, lifting his other hand to cup her cheek. It's good wine-- wouldn't be much use if it wasn't-- but (if he can be melodramatic and sappy for a moment in the space of his own mind) the taste doesn't compare to her lips.

"Leia."

He pulls away just enough to breathe her name, soft and fervent. She ought to know just what she does to him. If he could think of any fitting words, maybe he'd say them, but he just takes a moment to search her face like he needs to commit the moment to memory, and then he kisses her again.

The breath she draws in at the sound of her name is a shaky one; it sounds like something new when he murmurs it, looking at her like he might forget the shape of her face if he doesn't. She's doing the same, taking in the set of his mouth and the light in his pale eyes. It's a sort of staring she tolerates far more easily, this mutual admiration in the wake of a kiss.

The wine can wait when he's so interested in kissing her breathless. We can drink it after, she thinks, the idea as intoxicating as any liquor. There'll be an after, with wine or without, curled up with Han in this damnably small bunk.

One of Leia's hands disappears into his hair, her fingers splayed out over his scalp. As for the other...well, she might be shy, but she's also eager, once the spotlight isn't solely on her. And this part, at least, is familiar. She pulls blindly at the tails of his shirt, with none of the patience that befits a princess. As soon as a hand's breadth of hem is free, she reaches up it, pressing her palm flat against his stomach.

In its way this is as unusual for him as for her; Han has never pursued anyone quite like this, never been so willing to wait. How he's been patient enough is a mystery to him and probably everyone else. He can't pinpoint exactly when things shifted, when he started to find it endearing when she'd annoy him, when it turned from attraction to something more. Three years he's been making excuses, putting off leaving, saying just this once, just one more job, and somewhere along the way he's given her more of himself than he'd intended to ever give anyone.

The small, approving sound he makes is lost, muffled against her lips, his eyes falling shut. It's less of a surprise this time, how eager she is to have her hands on him, but no less welcome. For a long moment he just relaxes into that, thumb brushing her cheek, but finally he has to pull away, his heartbeat quickening already.

"I have to put this down," he murmurs, soft and a little sheepish, shaking the bottle slightly.

He'll want two hands to get her out of her shirt, after all.

"If you have to," she teases, with an affected little sigh, her hands falling back to her lap. The wine's role in the night's activities is receding, and that's probably for the best; it's a good vintage, one that's likely to go to her head if they get too far into the bottle. And as pleasant a thought as that could be under other circumstances, she'd like to have all her wits about her right now.

After--after--it'll be a nice thing to return to. She's certain of that much.

While he sets the wine down, one of her hands curls around the waistband of his trousers, her knuckles beneath the fabric, brushing against his hip. He might need both hands, but Leia's not letting him get too far away from her.

"I do." And isn't that a damn shame? You might even believe the rueful tone, if not for the lopsided grin that accompanies it. If she doesn't need the false confidence in that bottle that's all the better. It'll wait.

He has to twist a bit to be able to set it on the floor, far enough aside that it won't get kicked if one of them steps off the bunk, and while he's stretched out she does that. It shouldn't surprise him; after all, when she sets her mind to something Leia is fearless. Shifting luxuriously beneath her touch he pulls himself back upright, leaning forward to bump his nose against hers before reaching for the hem of her shirt.

She grins in return, nowhere near as crooked but still genuine. As a rule, Leia would rather not find herself beholden to the demands of liquor, however good. If she doesn't have the grit to do this on her own, then she shouldn't be here with him. It's that simple.

So it's a good thing that his return to her is something she's entirely in favour of. She pecks him on the mouth before letting him have his way with her shirt. Right back where I started when he knocked.

Well, she could've saved them both some time. Though if it had been anyone else at the door... well, Chewbacca wouldn't have much high ground considering his own habitual state of dress, and seeing Threepio flustered might be worth the embarrassment, eh?

It's good that he's too busy to say anything this dumb aloud.

And busy he is, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it out of the way, only careful enough to ensure it doesn't go flying right to the bottle of wine, because the last thing they need is the distraction of a spill. There are much more pleasant distractions, like running his hands down her bare sides, leaning back to drag her half on top of him so he can kiss her again, stroking her breast with his thumb. Much better.

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.

Hey, you don't fly the way he does without developing some dexterity. He's taking his time, gentle and thorough, because she deserves it and because he's been waiting so long, he's not going to squander the opportunity.

He could've saved them some time, too, if he'd shown up half-dressed, but that's not quite the impression he wanted to make. And it would've been a lot less comfortable if she'd turned him away like that.

Chuckling softly in return, he shifts and squirms to make it easier to get his clothes off. As soon as his hands are free of sleeves (and the shirt tossed off to join hers) they're back on her body and he's arching to kiss her again, greedy and open-mouthed.

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.

Well, the Falcon has been the main lady in his life for a long, long while... Being enough to distract from his ship places Leia pretty damn high. Even if it doesn't exactly sound complimentary. Fortunately, he'd rather show his appreciation in other ways; the slow exploration of her body with hands and lips, the still slightly stunned look in his eyes here and there.

After a moment he does pull away, just a little bit, breathing raggedly and grinning widely. He's got a thumb hooked lazily into the waistband of her pants, his other hand splayed on her thigh. It takes some awkward curling but he manages to lean down to take her breast in his mouth, teasing lightly with his teeth, remembering the way she'd groaned when he put his mouth on her and hoping for a repeat performance.

If a repeat performance is what he wants, a repeat performance is what he's going to get. Her eyes slip shut as he bows his head, her body arching forward into his mouth, and a satisfied sound rolls low from her throat.

She lets him keep going for a long, delicious moment, her thumb digging into his hipbone, her other hand sliding over his back, up to his hair. Feeling the way he has to curve his spine just to reach her chest at this angle, however, she feels a vague pang of guilt. It's one of those rare moments when she regrets her small stature, and she murmurs, "If you keep this up, you're going to end up with a sore neck."

Which wouldn't be her problem, really, but she'd really like to get further than Han Solo throws out his back trying to show a princess a good time, all things considered. She takes his face between her hands and gently draws him back up for a kiss. A brief one, one she follows with a question that's hesitant but not at all uninterested. "What if we lay down?"

At the very least it'd be an entertaining injury to explain. Most of the blame, really, is on the cramped bunk. The Falcon wasn't really designed for comfort and these weren't really designed for two people. Not that it's going to stop them.

He's very willing to be led, shifting back up for that kiss eagerly, hands still warm on her skin. In answer she gets another little smile.

"We can do that,"

And, see, her size isn't a problem at all, because it means it's easy for him to reposition them both, shifting to stretch with his back pressed to the wall, tugging her alongside him. A little precarious given how narrow the mattress is, but this isn't the time to be shy.

a galaxy far, far away . . . .

Return of the Slow Boat to Bespin

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