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

Once she knows what she's doing, she'll be the bossiest possible partner. These fleeting moments in which she's sure he knows better than her are just that: fleeting. But what's to come will, hopefully, be as enjoyable as this.

And this is plenty enjoyable, especially with Han in charge of things--he's an inveterate tease, but he makes good on every promise of a caress, and then some. She cups his face between her hands, dragging him back to her for a kiss when she's breathless and straining under his touch.

When she does come, it's with a shameless moan and hands clinging to his neck and shoulders, her body arching into a taut line beneath his. She groans his name again as her toes curl in against the mattress.

As much as he's enjoying the advantage he has right now, he'll enjoy being told what to do (and probably arguing) just as much. Is that strange? It feels like it should be strange, how much he values the contentious way their conversations generally go. But if this were simple, if they always agreed, it wouldn't be the same. (He'd be able to walk away from that, maybe, like he can't walk away from her.)

And that, the way she clings and cries out, is exactly what he's been looking for. He kisses back fiercely when she pulls him close, stilling so he can commit every moment of this to memory.

But... well. After a moment of watching her with a little bit of well-earned smugness, he has to interrupt her basking. He can't hold out indefinitely, as it turns out.

"Would you rather I..." You know. He jerks his shoulder back vaguely, hoping that's illustrative enough.

For a few pleasant moments, she lets herself relax more than she has in...well, it's probably better not to think about how long it's been since she last felt this satisfied by anything. And then Han speaks. It's not unpleasant to hear his voice, but it'd probably be nicer if he was saying something else.

She stares up at him, uncomprehending. Maybe if he'd asked a few moments earlier, she'd have gotten the gist of it--but even then, a vague gesture and an embarrassed half-sentence isn't enough to convey much.

"Try it again in Basic," she suggests dryly, lifting a too-heavy arm to brush a lock of his hair back from his face.

Even the worst-case scenario here, if she ends up regretting this and there never is a next time, those moments of seeing her so relaxed would be well worth it. She could use, now and then, to get to put aside the myriad concerns of the Rebellion, her fight against the Empire. (He won't say so, because she'd probably never talk to him again much less sleep with him, but that doesn't make it untrue.) Not for long. Just long enough to stay human.

He rolls his eyes, shifts a little to make the point that he hasn't moved. This seemed like it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, but he hasn't got a gentlemanly way to offer.

"I could finish myself off. If you want. I'm guessing you don't wanna end up pregnant."

That? That was definitely not the gentlemanly way.

"--Oh."

So much for relaxing. Han's explanation jolts her out of the comfortable haze she'd been floating through, as she realizes that through all of this, she never thought once about taking precautions. She'd let herself be swept up by Han's touch and all the desires she'd spent years telling herself to ignore. And it's gotten her here, trying frantically to figure out how likely conception would be right now without actually showing it on her face.

(The lesson here, kids, is never let go. All those thoughts of future trysts have fizzled into nothing--how can they even think of the possibility?)

"I think you'd better," she says, and despite her best efforts, her voice comes out a little grim. The last thing she needs in the middle of a war is a child.

Moment officially ruined. Which is not what he'd wanted, but it seemed like the less of two risks. (Usually, Han likes space travel. Usually he has time to prepare, to make sure the Falcon is well-stocked with everything he might need or want. Usually.)

Enough of her thoughts show on her face to make him feel like a real heel. This is not the evening he'd want her remembering. Maybe time will soften it and the rest will outshine it. He leans in, brushes his thumb over her cheek. If he felt a little less unsure he'd kiss her. (He'd like to kiss her.) One thing at a time. Trying not to make things worse by frowning, he pulls away and steps halfway onto the floor to find his abandoned shirt. Yep. Nothing awkward here.

"It'll be all right."

She'd rather take the risk of the night souring than the alternative, but as he pulls away, her chest feels like it could collapse in on itself.

This is no time for moping, she tells herself after a moment. The night's only ruined if you let it be. It's not strictly true, but she needs to believe in something besides the possibility of complications.

"Come here." As awkward as this might have turned, she's not going to lie here and worry while he deals with his erection. Sliding her legs out of the bunk, she sits up and scoots toward him. There's no reason he should have to finish himself off when she's perfectly capable of it.

The night doesn't have to be ruined, though it feels like it's tending that way.

He almost refuses, but he hasn't got any reason to. Even stubborn pride doesn't really make sense, so with a heavy breath that is only just not a sigh he turns around, shirt in hand. Thinking ahead might have saved them this awkwardness, but the truth is everything kind of took him by surprise, too, and now-- well, moping isn't going to do either of them any good.

So in the name of not ruining things, he leans in to kiss her. It's kind of like an apology. Actually apologizing seems like it would be the final word on this evening, and that's not what he wants.

Leia puts an arm around him, pulling him close as she kisses him. It's nothing like the easy rapport they'd found when he was inside her, but there's something intimate about curling a hand around his still-slick cock nonetheless. It's still something she can do for him, after everything he gave her earlier.

She breaks the kiss and turns her attention to his jaw, then his neck. The rest of him, she simply leans into, trying to let the warmth of his skin return some ease to her own limbs. She'd like to hide it, but stiff worry still keeps her from moving quite naturally.

Given the choice he'd rather not do things this way, but it's less of a risk. It's one thing for her to indulge here and now, in the privacy of his ship, the helpless span from here to Bespin, but he doesn't imagine that's anything like a commitment. Aside from the fact that they're in the midst of a war, he doesn't imagine he's the sort of man she'd choose in the long run. That doesn't mean this is meaningless (it isn't, at least for him), or that she doesn't care for him (she does, he can tell), but it's still not a solid foundation for that.

At least the consideration he's trying to show has kept her from running off, or throwing him out. Actually, this is nice too, in its way, and he relaxes against her, tipping his head to the side with a soft sigh, curling his fingers around her shoulder. The interruption has cooled him off a bit, but he's still close, and there's no question it's better having a hand (...hah) with things than doing it on your own.

He runs his fingers through her hair, chuckling softly as they tangle near her shoulder. Okay, okay. This isn't what he had in mind at all, but it could have gone much worse.

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.

Fortunately he's inclined to hold himself pretty damn close, as best as he can without getting in the way of what she's doing. Shifting his hips into her grasp, he turns his head to press a lazy kiss to whatever part of her he can reach at the moment. Maybe this isn't ruined at all.

Honestly Han doesn't know how to feel about the prospect of brushing out her hair. It's a little strange, but it sounds surprisingly... well, intimate, for something so small and ordinary. If she likes the idea, he likes it. He definitely likes the idea of hanging around and playing with her hair, at least.

He doesn't answer, just slowly shakes his hand free of the loose knot of her hair, groaning low and shameless right beside her ear, clinging suddenly tighter as he comes.

(Let's be entirely honest: Leia suspects, at least a little, that Han would mostly be there for playing with her hair and possibly making even more of a mess of it. But with how much he seems to like that, the potential for a few snarls doesn't bother her. There's such fascination and affection in the way he touches it; it's unlike anyone else she knows.)

It might have been a little nicer if this could have happened properly in bed, without worry or haste to pull out, but for what it is, it's still very nice. She can hardly complain with his breath tickling her ear and the sound of him finally finding satisfaction in her arms. There's something deeply gratifying about that, much more than the sound of Han finishing himself off would be.

She lifts her head and tilts in to kiss him, something slow and lingering and lazy, his cock still resting in her hand.

(Making more of a mess is pretty likely. He doesn't exactly have a lot of experience brushing out long hair. There aren't a lot of women who can rival her hair to begin with. But at the very least they'll probably enjoy themselves. It's kind of a ridiculous thing to be so fascinated by, he knows, but he can't help himself.)

Maybe they can figure a better way around this next time. Probably it's a necessity, if there's going to be a next time. Still, relaxing against her, leaning into that kiss-- he's finding it hard to have any regrets.

(They have time in front of them--more than enough for Han to start to figure out how to brush hair without tearing it out of her scalp. His interest is more sweet than strange, and she's more than willing to tolerate it.)

As first attempts go, Leia knows this could have gone worse. She has all kinds of stories from aunts who'd wanted to frighten her off the possibility of canoodling while she ought to be focusing on schoolwork, not to mention a few from old school friends she'd once been close with. And in the Alliance, word always seemed to get around which X-Wing pilot had broken whose heart, even if they clammed up when they saw royalty walking past. She had a nice time, Han clearly had a nice time, and the parts that were uncomfortable hardly made up the bulk of the experience.

We have plenty of time to get better at this. Provided they can find a way to reduce the risk of a souvenir neither of them want.

There's no real etiquette she knows for these next bits, so she lets him go and wonders if she can surreptitiously wipe her hand on something while his attention is somewhere else. If only it seemed like his attention might shift from her for more than the blink of eye.

In the meantime, she gives him a smile that has more to do with his cocksure grins than her usual expressions. "You seem pleased."

It's not the suave, perfect seduction he might have hoped for but she's grinning at him. That could make up for a lot.

Han has more experience-- a few years on her, a lot less emphasis on good behavior in his upbringing-- but this still feels significant. For a while he thought maybe it was just the element of challenge, the way she refused to acknowledge her attraction to him, but considering how he feels right now, he doesn't think that's it. This isn't anything close to a conquest. It could be the start of something. Maybe not a permanent something (best to plan to avoid that, with the war,) but something good.

He stretches a bit, lazily boneless, surreptitiously nudges the discarded shirt a little closer. That's why he was grabbing it, Leia, he's being gentlemanly again.

"I kinda am." He answers her grin with a slow smirk of his own. "But you might have me beat."

Tally it up and he probably spends a lot more time relaxing than she does. She looks lovely when she manages it, as it turns out.

This is no way to treat a shirt, even one as weathered as the ones that come out of Han's wardrobe. But Leia knows a hint when she sees one, even when it's ungentlemanly, and she takes the cloth from him. A dainty swipe or two at her palm, and then at him, as neatly as if it were a napkin and a spot of food at a banquet.

These are the reasons one practices manners in the first place, after all.

Leia laughs at his answer, the first bit of self-consciousness in a while coming over her. She is relaxed, as long as she doesn't think about the fact that there's still technically a chance that she could become pregnant. (They might have to plumb the depths of Han's non-penetrative knowledge. She doesn't want to give up this new distraction after so many long days--but taking too many risks in this arena seems like playing with fire.) And it says something about just how tense she must seem sometimes, if it's that obvious.

"That's because I am." She smiles up at him, tucking her feet beneath her. And though it seems like a paltry answer as it comes out of her mouth, she adds, "It was nice."

Anything in his wardrobe has probably been through much worse, and even if it hadn't it's a sacrifice well-worth making under the circumstances. Tossing the soiled shirt back onto the floor, he eases back onto the bunk beside her, leaning comfortably against her.

"Just nice?" he teases. More than nice, he thinks, but he'll take it.

(So maybe next time is still on. Which is good, even if they need to find a way around their lack of contraceptives. It's not ideal, but it's not a problem, exactly. Actually, it could be exciting. Maybe that's a better way to look at it. There's plenty they can do, plenty he can show her.)

"We've still got the wine."

"Very nice," she concedes, settling in next to him. Admittedly, she's not sure what he'd expect to hear if not that. Her decorum classes really could have stood to include lessons on what to say after sex to keep from sounding silly or utterly virginal. In this case, teasing Han back seems like the safest option. "Much better than a twenty-third game of holo-chess."

Nice despite everything that went wrong--or, at least, not the way she'd expected--and despite the fact that their surroundings don't qualify as romantic to anyone besides Han Solo. It's no small compliment, even if she's pretending aloud that it is. (And steadfastly resisting the urge to suggest they try more next time, if he has any ideas. The goal is not to sound like an inexperienced girl, after all.)

At his mention of the wine, she glances down at it. "It'd be a shame to let such a good vintage go to waste." Pity they don't have glasses, or more room to drink it in, but it really is good regardless. Leia bends down and picks it up by the neck, taking a long draw before offering it to him.

To be fair, he doesn't really need to hear anything. The shameful failure of her decorum classes to offer lessons on appropriate post-coital chatter can be neatly excused. As far as he's concerned, they can curl up in total silence or talk about anything she likes, his ego has been sufficiently stroked.

He huffs a laugh at the comparison to holochess, and wraps an arm around her as she leans down.

(And yeah, he's got a couple of ideas. No rush. There's plenty of time before they get to Bespin.)

Taking a good swig of the wine, he hums agreeably. It is good, better than he'd generally buy for himself. Pretty much a necessity, when you're choosing bribes.

He swallows, and then he kisses her, because the wine doesn't hold a candle when it comes down to it.

a galaxy far, far away . . . .

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