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

(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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