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A soft knock at the hatch brought Leia out of her novel. She looked up from her datapad, blinking as she took in the crew cabin of the Millennium Falcon . The last thing she remembered was folding into a cross-legged seated position on her bunk, rubbing her temples, and reminding herself that getting to read Plaiting Platinum was a luxury. By that point, Leia had tried and discarded a “just for fun” read that had invited the very images of Han’s mouth between her legs that she was trying to escape. So she’d tried to return to the Alderaanian classic she’d come to love during her junior college years.
If Leia lived in a galaxy that allowed her to take vacations on purpose, she would design a vacation that had room for both cunnilingus and for reading. She was stuck on this bucket of bolts for the foreseeable future though, so she might as well take what she could: reading in addition to sex. No hiking, but then, one really couldn’t have everything. You’re enjoying this, she’d told herself, as she directed her attention back to the words on the screen. You have diverse interests. You contain multitudes.
The datapad’s time display was not synced up with the ship’s chrono. Leia hadn’t been tracking it during all her fits and starts and had no idea how much time had actually passed. But she was now 8% of the way into the more serious novel—a not insignificant dent in a book that size. A small victory. When was the last time she’d been that absorbed in something that wasn’t her work?
A voice came through the hatch. “Leia?”
She started. That was right; there was one other thing that had recently absorbed her outside of her work, and apparently it was knocking at her door. What was he doing here? They’d had an agreement. Leia straightened her spine, careful not to push out her chest as she did so. “Come in,” she said.
The hatch swooshed and Han Solo took a step in to lean against the threshold. They were wearing the same clothes, although, Leia supposed, to rather different effects. Han’s t-shirt clung to him, showing off all the features she’d run her hands over these past few days—-biceps, chest, stomach—-learning where the muscles were hard, where the skin was soft, and how to get the most enjoyment out of each area for the both of them. Han’s boxers fit him well enough to show the definition of his waist and not much else, before cutting off to show the shape of his legs; Leia was nevertheless well aware of what was underneath.
“I didn’t wake you?” Han asked.
At that, Leia managed to tear her gaze from his body to look at his face. “I was just reading,” she said.
Han nodded absently at the corner of the cabin he was looking at instead of her. He hadn’t avoided eye contact with her since Hoth. Even after this morning, when they’d agreed to give their bodies a twenty-four hour cycle to recover, and even as Leia had stayed out of Han’s way all day—-to keep herself from being tempted or distracted by him, she’d told herself, choosing to focus on making herself useful around the Falcon instead—-she’d felt him looking at her when their paths did cross. Each time, she had delayed checking if she was right as long as she could. Each time, she’d glanced over her to catch his eyes on her, lit up, warm, dancing, even if he had managed to keep the smolder out of them. She’d felt her cheeks warm and her pulse quicken, and she’d looked away every time. But still. They had seemed good.
At dinner, she had wanted to nestle into Han’s side, to touch her lips to the place where his jaw met his throat, to squeeze his thigh and then to settle her hand in his. Even to let him gently pull on or run his hand through her hair—-no matter that she hadn’t given him permission to touch her there yet. No matter that any of these displays would be awkward for Chewie.
Instead, she’d sat across from Han, keeping even her feet to herself. The looks between them had been enough to feel, to Leia at least, like they were playing games under the table. The darting glances that turned into eyes moving slowly across each other, the catching each other looking, the knowing smiles that came after that. Leia didn’t even need to mentally undress Han. It was enough to enjoy the bob of this throat, the shape of his hands. She didn’t know if it was the same for him. She didn’t care. Whatever put that other kind of light back into his eyes was fine with her.
Leia had held Han’s gaze then, although it was true she’d jumped at the chance to do the dishes instead of lingering after the meal. She had told him that she didn’t need help, and he’d gone off to complete more repairs. She’d thought Han understood that she was avoiding their physical entanglement rather than him as a person. Had something changed? Had he finally run out of patience with her?
“Everything alright? Leia asked when the silence had stretched a bit too long.
“What? Oh, yeah.” Han said, shifting his weight off the frame of the hatch to examine the threshold grooves. It occurred to Leia that they were extremely unlikely to actually require maintenance. “Scraped off a bunch o’ the grime that’s accumulated in the maintenance bay in case it’s messing with thermal efficiency. Tomorrow I’ll flush out some of the non-essential hydraulics, see if that makes anything or any better. Been needin’ to be done for a long time.”
“That’s good,” Leia said.
Han nodded. “Everything alright with you?” He was scraping the grooves with this thumbnail now, back and forth, resulting in some sort of dust. Leia hadn’t known the threshold was made of material that could do that. “You don’t need anything?”
“I have everything I need,” Leia said.
“Good,” Han said, and he shot her a small smile—-the first time he’d gestured in her direction—-before continuing to mess with the hatch threshold. “Want you to be comfortable,” he added. Goddess, if he kept picking at that, he might actually damage the hatch’s ability to seal shut properly. Leia resisted the urge to go put her hand over his. It was better to keep the distance between them at this time of night.
“Han,” Leia ventured after a moment. “Why are you here?” She closed her eyes when she heard how that sounded and Han let out a breath. She reopened her eyes. “I didn’t mean that in a—-”
“ ‘Course not—-” Han abandoned the threshold grooves.
“It’s just, we decided that we weren’t going to—-”
“Yeah, yeah—-” Han put his hands up in a placating gesture, finally turning his body toward hers. “ ‘M not here for that—- I know we gotta cool it.”
“Okay,” Leia said, tipping her voice down to make it a statement, and pausing to let Han jump in with an explanation. He didn’t. “So—-?”
“Well, uh,” he said, dropping his eyes downwards, bringing his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Was just figurin’, since we’re takin’ a break from the—-uh—-it’d be good to—-just thought—-maybe you’d like—-”
More words tumbled out of Han; he kept saying them. Leia furrowed her brow as if doing so would allow her to make sense of it.
“I mean—-s’not like we really—-”
Leia leaned forward, trying to catch the rest. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that last part.”
Han repeated himself, still talking to the floor.
“I thought we did say goodnight?” Leia asked.
Han paused. “Uh, yeah, kinda. I guess.” He took a breath and held it for a moment, before letting it out. “It wasn’t like a—-not like a proper goodnight,” Han mumbled.
“Not a—-?” Leia bit the inside of her cheek before she finished that sentence. Neither of them had yelled at each other since they’d finally left the Imperial fleet behind. It would not be a good luck for them if they started fighting again the minute they stopped fucking.
Leia took a deep breath and tried to remember what she did in situations where she didn’t understand where someone was coming from and she wanted to. What she usually did when that someone wasn’t Han. She stretched a leg out to loosen her body and posture.
She softened her voice just a little, knowing if she didn’t she’d likely have a tone. “In what way wasn’t it a proper goodnight?”
Han had both his hands at the back of his neck now and his eyes up at the ceiling. He shrugged in response to the question. “You know.”
He paused as if to let Leia fill in. She said nothing. “It just—-” He stopped, closed his eyes. Leia saw he was working at this too; he wasn’t trying to fight either.
“I am trying to understand,” Leia assured him.
“Yeah, I know,” Han blew out. “ ‘S not you. I’m not doin’ a good job ‘o explainin’.”
Han licked his lips. Swallowed. He finally brought his gaze down to Leia. Despite the tension, Leia still felt that familiar jolt she got when their eyes met, although that light in Han’s eyes from earlier remained absent.
He shrugged again. Leia nodded as if he had said something. Sometimes just continuing to show someone you were listening, that you wanted to understand them, could help them get where they needed to go.
“And—-” Han looked around the cabin again, “And you’re—-you’re in here ,” he said, putting his hands up again in that same placating gesture, “which you’re allowed to be if that’s what you want. I want you to be comfortable.” Han folded his arms across his chest. “I just didn’t realize I wouldn’t get to—-to say goodnight for real.”
For real? If he wasn’t talking about sex, what was he talking about? Before she had returned to her bunk, she had crawled to the edge of the maintenance bay, where he was neck-deep in the Falcon. He had offered to clean himself up and she had reminded him that they really shouldn’t touch anyway. He had asked for a kiss (“does that mean I’m not supposed to kiss you?”) and she had given him one (“I didn’t get on this floor just to speak with you. I mean, I do like talking—-”) that kiss had deepened into another and another.
It had been hours since they had put their hands on each other. The aching-sweet absence of his touch sent her skin tingling. Each part of her body that expected to feel him against came alive; it was as if she could feel each molecule of air around her, her body straining with hope that this would be the moment it finally got what it wanted. Leia’s core had clenched and a moan had escaped her. Han had pulled back to shoot her a small smirk before capturing her mouth with his once again.
They’d kissed and kissed. Every time they had started to wind down—-the kisses becoming slower, softer, lighter—-something would spark and they’d wind right up again, going deeper, trying to make up for the fact that they were keeping their hands to themselves. Leia had noted several hums of appreciation from Han, although she didn’t feel the need to stop and rub it in. She might not have been able to if she’d wanted to.
When they’d finally separated, they’d shared glances that bounced between eyes and lips, back up to eyes again. The desire to start back up again was written on Han’s face, and she could feel it in the heat of her cheeks. The smiles that had passed between them were full of the knowledge of what they were each doing to the other person. Leia had given him a breathy, “Goodnight,” and Han had swallowed, throat-apple bobbing as if to stop himself from saying something he shouldn’t. She had pushed herself up off the floor with great self-satisfaction, aware of his eyes on her body, glancing backways to catch him watching her walk away. He’d thrown her a wink.
She’d been so certain he’d enjoyed that as much as she had. So what had changed? Or what had she missed?
“Our goodnight felt real to me,” Leia said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Han’s posture softened. “I didn’t mean it like that. That—-by the maintenance bay—-that was real nice.”
“So what then?” Leia asked.
“Hey,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. Can I?” Han pointed to the foot of the bunk, and she nodded yes without looking at him. He sat down gently on the edge, bending over to make himself fit. Leia had the impression he was somehow still holding most of his own weight rather than letting himself sink down. She could feel his eyes on her and, when she lifted her gaze to meet them, she found them soft and full of concern. What did he want from her? What was she supposed to do with these mixed messages?
“I’m sorry if I made it sound like it wasn’t good,” Han said.
“What would be a real goodnight?”
Han looked down. His throat moved and then stilled. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He lifted a hand and extended it toward Leia before pulling it back again. He placed his hand back on the bunk, keeping his eyes straight ahead. Took a breath. Seemed to decide something. He reached his hand back and placed it gently on the part of her he could reach: Her foot. He let his hand rest there a moment, then, almost as if he needed something to do, he started massaging the foot.
Leia stared at him. If this was a Corellian ritual or code, it had not been covered in any of her lessons. Feet had no particular significance in Corellian culture or courtship and this was—-well, awkward to the point of clumsiness, even if Leia could feel a current of energy running from his hand to her foot, from her foot up through the rest of her. That current seemed to run between them whenever they touched, sometimes even when they just got very close. Once they had become trapped on this ship for the foreseeable future, it made what had happened in Han’s bunk inevitable. Or so Leia told herself.
Han ended his impromptu foot massage by giving her foot a little squeeze; that current loosened, but didn’t die. He looked back at her, their eyes met once again, and she again felt the little jolt that always came with that. For all the sensations bound up in this interaction, Leia was no closer to figuring out what Han was trying to say. How in all of Corellia’s nine hells was she supposed to logic her way through whatever—-
Oh.
Corellian male code indeed.
She had avoided that all day. But now Han was rubbing her big toe, gazing somewhat sadly at her foot. And… well, her heart didn’t squeeze, but it did something .
Leia pressed her foot into Han’s palm and she could feel Han’s hand meet her pressure with his own. Since they’d started getting physical with each other, Leia had discovered how much she liked to push against him. It felt right; regulating. She was afraid to get used to it. He was sitting up straighter now, alert, watching her, taking note of her receptivity. She narrowed her eyes at him more than was strictly necessary, and put on an imperious tone she had come to suspect he kind of liked.
“This is not a sex call,” she reminded him.
“Not a sex call,” he confirmed. “I respect our agreement. ‘Sides,” he added, waving her foot a little, “I don’t really have a thing for feet.”
“Hmm.” Leia said, leaning back on her forearms. “You do have a thing for me though. So I have to watch you.”
“True.” His smile hitched up on one side. “Got enough of a thing for you that maybe I like even the smelly parts.” And then the bent down and kissed the foot he still held, with a cartoonish kissy noise. Leia shrieked, although from the contact silliness, she wasn’t sure. Han grimaced. “It’s a little gross. Might be the sock.”
“These are your smelly socks, you know,” Leia laughed, and gently kicked at him. Han made a half-hearted attempt to keep hold of her foot before allowing her to easily wriggle away. Yesterday, this tussle would have resulted in him on top of her, kissing her until she rolled him over. Instead Leia was now at the topmost end of the bunk, Han at the bottom, the extra-tall length stretching between them. She suddenly felt cold, though she hadn't been close enough to Han that it could have made a difference, no matter how hot Corellian men supposedly ran. It hadn’t escaped Leia that Han’s smile faltered when she’d finally broken contact with him. Though it was back now, it no longer reached his eyes.
“Okay, hotshot,” Leia said, sighing dramatically. She picked up her datapad and put it on the nightstand. “Come here,” she said, patting the bunk next to her.
Han didn’t need to be told twice. Leia wasn't sure how he managed to avoid hitting his head or tripping over his own elbows as he crawled up to the head of the bunk. They shuffled around for a moment, finally settling with Han on his back and Leia tucked into his side with her head on his chest and her back to the open cabin. She was grateful he’d made sure not to make her feel penned in. She laid her hand over his heart and felt him wrap his arm around her.
Leia had prepared a sarcastic quip about how romantic it was to be packed into the bunk together like tinned rations. Now that she was pressed against him, however, remembering the way she’d used the good night kiss to avoid the discussion of where she was going to sleep that night, and the sight of his hurt expression when she'd playfully moved away moments before lingering in her mind...well, the sarcasm died on her lips. She could cuddle with him if he wanted; he’d done so much for her. It was a normal thing lovers did. It was also pleasant to touch him, even if there was no chance for doing more. Pleasant to feel the hard muscle of his chest over his shirt, to feel that current between them humming almost sleepily in the background, even to feel the unsated ache between her legs.
Han rested the bridge of his nose against Leia’s forehead. She thought that must be an awkward angle for him, even with his head propped up on pillows. There were so many points of touch between them already, and here he was adding another, without violating her rules by burying his face in the top of her hair. Leia counted them—-his nose pressed into her forehead, her head resting on his chest, her torso draped over his, her palm on his chest, his arm on her back, her leg wrapped over his to hook around his ankle. She breathed in that scent of him she’d been inhaling for days. Tonight there was more soap and more Falcon grease, less of the pheromone-tinged sweat she’d gotten used to. Both were nice, if she was honest. She felt her own body was relaxing into his, muscles releasing of their own volition. Damn.
Touch was a human need, Leia told herself, just as sex could be—-seemed to be lately for her. Han coming to her bunk looking for her touch didn’t have to mean anything. Her physiological response to him didn’t have to mean anything except that he was good at touching, and he provided warmth in the cold of space travel, and she could trust him well enough, with her physical safety at least.
They had always been touchy, starting from those moments on the Death Star when he had been her shield. She was a touchy person. She and Luke were always making contact too. That’s how she’d been with her parents, with family friends. Even Jan Dodonna had been free with an embrace for her since the destruction of Alderaan. Touch was something social beings needed. Even if this was a different kind of touch, it didn’t have to be—-
Han took his free hand to cup her face, running his thumb back and forth on her cheek. Had he ever done that before? Leia closed her eyes. He released his grasp only to start tracing gentle caresses along her cheek, up and down her neck, around her ear. As he had done during their lovemaking, Han kept his fingers scrupulously away from her hairline. Leia was nevertheless aware that there were mere millimeters between his fingers and her hair. She didn’t think Han got how aware she was; a man who wasn’t Alderaanian probably wouldn’t, no matter how respectful he’d been about her rule.
In some ways, this kind of touch wasn’t so different from the way he had pressed kisses to and nipped at her inner thighs, gently teasing her lips as he moved upwards to massage the top of her with his mouth. The top, well above her clit, that area where she still had feel. Doing this, he’d gotten her so, so close to feeling what it would be like when she finally got him where she wanted him, but so achingly far.
Bringing her mind back to the present embrace, she glanced up at him to find his eyes half-closed, lazy gaze, that appeared to confirm his lack of agenda. He gave her a small smile and she put her head back down. She could tell him what he was doing by moving his fingers like that, or she simply ask him to stop. She closed her eyes and felt the feathery touch. Close to her hair. Away from her hair. Moving upwards, so close, and back down her neck again.
“ This is what you wanted,” Leia said, hoping that talking might give her back some of the composure she was in danger of losing.
“Mmmhmm,” he said, his hands continuing their light loops over her.
“You don’t mind not having sex tonight?” she asked.
“Seem like I mind?”
Leia looked down at Han’s boxers which, now that the two of them were laying down together, revealed he wasn’t un interested. Not trusting herself with her hands, and drawing on the control she’d gotten from years of Alderaanian martial arts and dance, she raised the thigh that had been hooked over his to lightly graze his erection. Han gave a little jump as a noise escaped his throat, somewhere between surprise and pleasure, but he caught her in his hand—-the same one that had been caressing her—-and returned her leg to where it had been. He kept his hold on her for the moment.
“Though we were behavin’,” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You asked if it looked like you minded,” Leia said, bringing a finger to coyly rest underneath his chin. “I was just pointing out that maybe part of you did.”
“Oh, that? That,” Han said, taking the wrist of her lifted hand, “is just ‘cause you’re beautiful.” He raised it to his mouth, to lay a chaste kiss on the soft, thin skin of her pulse point. “And ‘cause you feel good. S’all.”
“You’re so lucky you didn’t end up getting weird foot sex instead of this,” Leia said, collapsing back into his chest once he let her hand go.
Han chuckled, running his hand up and down her back. “Weird foot sex might not have been so bad. But you’re right. This is better.” He bent his head close to her ear and whispered, “You’re really missin’ the sex, huh?”
“Ugh,” Leia moaned, closing her eyes. “Aren’t you?”
“You really want me, huh?” he teased.
She raised herself up to sitting and he put his hands on her waist to make sure she didn’t go too far. Leia felt a grin spread over her face even as she rolled her eyes at him. Once she was sure he’d caught the gesture, she twisted away and he sat up to put his arms around her, bending over her so he didn’t hit his head, engulfing her in a Wookiee hug of an embrace, kissing her loudly in a way that could only be described as embarrassing-on-purpose. His aim was bad, and he was getting her temple, the space where her jawline met her ear.
“It’s been eighteen hours—-” he continued. She knew he could feel her laughing even though she was also making noises of fake displeasure, “—-and you want me so bad you can hardly stand it.”
“You want me too,” she breathed, pressing herself up against the hardness that she felt on her back, and was again rewarded with that noise of enjoyment that came from the back of his throat. “I don’t think you can stand it either.” He brought one of his hands to her back, putting just a hand of space between them, signalling her that that was enough for now.
“Sure,” Han admitted. His breath was hot on her ear. “But I’ve wanted you so bad I can hardly stand it for a long time, Princess. And now I got you here—-” He nipped at her earlobe and she exhaled, her hand going to his neck. Whether she was trying to keep his lips pressed against her or to simply touch him back, she wasn’t sure. “—-I got my arms around you—-” He grabbed her waist again, splaying his fingers to tickle her, forcing her to let go of him and sending Leia into another spasm of faux-resistance. “And I got you laughin’. I’m set—-” He folded her back into that hug, pressed a kiss to her temple, and rested his face against hers, chin on her shoulder. “—-for tonight, at least.”
Leia accepted the embrace, wrapping her arms around his, and muttered, “I bet I could have you begging for it.”
“You could,” he agreed. “Have mercy, though—-you’re not the only one gettin’ sore.”
Leia sighed. “And then we’d have to reset the chrono on our break.”
“Mmmhmmm. Could also mean we gotta take days to recover.”
“Days plural?” she asked.
“Mmmhmm.”
“It’s not worth it,” Leia said. “It’s almost worth it. But it’s not.” She felt Han’s arms tighten around her waist in agreement.
They stayed there, just breathing, feeling each other’s warmth. With the comforting weight of Han’s arms wrapped around her, Leia let herself melt into him again. She dimly remembered that this was supposed to be a goodnight; it seemed counterproductive at this point to kick him out. She wondered if she could allow herself to fall into sleep this way. Just let herself go. Deal with any implications in the morning.
She felt herself nuzzle against him. Han released Leia’s waist to run his hands up and down her arms and shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the place her neck met her shoulder.
“This isn’t so bad though, is it?” Han asked, breaking the silence. “Just bein’ here next to each other?”
Leia recognized the practiced nonchalant tone that usually meant he was asking for something he really wanted. Her eyes opened; she kept them on the wall across from her. When Leia didn’t respond, he continued.
“Missed you today.” His hands continued their path down her arm. “Spent all day lookin’ forward to gettin’ to be close to you at the end of it. Day felt…wrong without it,” he admitted, enclosing her hands in his own. “Not that you owe me that or anything. If it’s not somethin’ you want too.” His voice had taken on a slight chill that, subtle though it was, evoked a memory of the “so long, Princess,” that had left a bad taste in her mouth. She was aware of the stillness of his hands, even if they still held hers.
Earlier, when Han had made that clumsy grab at her foot, she had realized that “I want to hold you,” might not be the kind of thing Corellian men learned to share freely—-especially ones who had raised themselves on the streets of Coronet City. (Or goddess forbid, “I want to be held.”) Leia wasn’t the only one in a vulnerable position here. At least Han seemed to know what brought him to her bunk; Leia was still pretending that she was doing him a favor by letting him wrap his arms around her.
Leia wanted him to start caressing her again, to resume that steady stream of affection she had no idea what she’d done to deserve. She also knew better than to think of deserving when it came to giving and receiving affection. Deserving didn’t matter—-social beings needed it. None could truly earn the amount of care they required; they could only pass it on to each other as best they could, and hope it was somehow enough. Leia suspected Han had never gotten close to his allotted share. The galaxy had been generous to her in that department, even now. Though neither she nor Han deserved the looming separation that awaited them at the end of this “vacation.” She didn’t know how she’d continue to live with the gaping hole that affection left when it was taken away.
The thought of him leaving her alone now to return to the bunk they’d shared most of this week made her heart plummet to her stomach. Yet she didn’t know how to admit what he wanted her to; her throat seemed to close up. She wound her fingers into his, squeezing tightly. Buying herself time. He didn’t resist or pull away; he didn’t squeeze back.
Leia loosened her grip, realizing as she did so that her nails had been digging into Han’s skin. He hadn’t flinched. She turned his hands over in hers, admiring them. They were as beautiful as they were strong, calluses, scars and all. Effortlessly gentle on her body, but firm when she wanted that too. Capable of so much. “These are my favorite part of you,” she said, bringing his knuckles to her lips to kiss them. Han let her.
Leia released his hands, shifting out of his arms to try to get behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders to indicate he should change positions. Han’s eyes followed her, expression watchful, but he made no move of understanding. “Here,” she said, pressing more firmly to get him to shift.
“What are you doing?” he asked, failing to budge.
“Trust me,” she said.
“If you tell me—-”
“Will you just trust me?” Leia asked. Realizing she had given him reason to doubt her intentions, she added, “ I am trying to put my arms around you .”
“You don’t have to—-” Han was now looking, not panicked exactly, but reluctant in a highly masculine way. Leia shoved him lightly this time. You’re the one that wanted this, hotshot. “But I’m the—-” She could practically see him try out the sentence “I’m the man” in his head, think better of it, and then settle on, “—-I’m bigger.”
“Are you saying there are things I can’t do because of my size?”
Leia could again see his mental wheels turning and Han’s panic at knowing that, whatever he might actually think, there was a wrong answer. “Well, you probably shouldn’t—-” He swallowed and started again. “No. I would never say that.”
“Thought so.”
This time, Han let her move him.
"I'm small but I contain multitudes," she mumbled into his shoulder.
“What?” Han asked.
“Nothing,” Leia said.
Vertically challenged though she was, she held much of her height in her torso. Once Han was seated between her legs, it was comfortable to put her arms around him, even with the height difference. She told him to scooch down and leaned his head against her chest. The pillows against the wall provided her with plenty of support to take some of his weight. She noticed he felt suspiciously light, his muscles stiff with tension.
“How’s this?”
“I dunno. You could stab me in the back and I’d never see it coming,” he said. Leia poked him in the ribs. He jerked slightly in response, and she was gratified to feel him soften at least a little bit into her when he’d recovered. “It’s not bad,” he amended.
“Lean more into me,” she said, tightening her grip on him to see if it could help him soften into her. Trying to create for him what she had felt in his embrace.
“I am leanin’ into you,” he replied.
“You can’t be leaning that much, because apparently I once owned a weighted blanket that weighed more than you,” Leia said, keeping her tone light, nuzzling her face against his until she got a small smile. She rewarded him with a kiss on his cheek.
“‘M tryin’ not to crush you,” Han said, regaining his Serious Face.
“I’ll let you know if I can’t breathe.”
“If you can’t breathe, you won’t be able to say anything,” he said, but she could hear the amusement in his fake-sarcastic voice. She kissed him again, once again eliciting that small smile.
Leia let him have the last word. With one arm slung across his chest—Han held it pressed against him, so it apparently wasn’t going anywhere—-Leia used her other hand to massage him. She could feel him loosen under her, occasionally giving her a small noise of appreciation. Once his eyes had closed and his breathing become more even, Leia put her mouth next to his ear and whispered, “I missed you today too, hotshot.” His throat bobbed. His hand squeezed her arm, letting her know he heard. “I like being close to you too. Just being close, just like this.”
“An’ ‘m not hurting you?” he asked after a while.
“You’re not hurting me. You’re leaning just the right amount.” She lifted her hand to run it through his hair before assuring him, “I’ll tell you.”
Leia knew he never wanted to hurt her, at least when he was in his right mind and not trying to get her to admit that he could . They both knew they couldn’t keep that up. If they did, they’d ruin this whole thing—-not just what had started in Han’s bunk the other night, but the friendship that had started when they’d escaped the Death Star together, rocky though it had sometimes been. Han had been more mature tonight. She hoped she had been too.
Despite the tranquility of the moment, she was suddenly seized by the thought that Han should not be dealing with the Jabba situation on his own. Even with the help of Chewie. She resisted the urge to say something; at this moment, she knew it would sound to Han like she was nagging him about leaving. She often focused on how his leaving would affect her, but she was suddenly seized with a fierce desire to protect him . He’d shown up for her again and again. If only she could get him to let her do so back. Not let him do all the caring.
Moving as subtly as possible so as not to disturb Han, Leia reached a hand to the crown of her head, feeling for the spot where one of her braids was secured. Though it was awkward, she managed to brace her fingers against her scalp to create enough leverage to remove several pins one-handed.
Han started when she let the braid she’d freed fall to her shoulder, pulling away as if he was still in danger of violating her rule. He turned slightly, almost as if to apologize, and then stopped. He looked at her. She touched the braid lightly, showing him that she knew it was there, that it was where she wanted it to be. He let out a breath.
“I’m tired of having it up,” Leia said, holding his gaze.
He was silent a moment before clearing his throat and adding, “Seems like it might feel good to let it down once in a while.”
Leia nodded.
Han angled himself as sideways as he could without repositioning the both of them. As he studied her, Leia’s fingers itched to take down the second brain that had formed the coronet on her head; she felt a bit ridiculous. But Han’s solemnity as he brought his hand up to her hair kept Leia still.
She could feel her heartbeat as he got close, her breath hitching. He placed his hand on the side of her head, running his hand through the hair by her temple. He kept his movement deliberate. As he got further, his fingers dislodged some of the pins that head the other braid in place. Han pulled back slightly, and she took his hand to place it back. Taking her cue, Han gently took out the hairpins on purpose, letting them fall.
Han’s eyes flicked briefly, following her movement as Leia unwound the second braid, before returning his attention to the braid before him. Having run his fingers through as much of the hair against her head that the braid would allow, he ran his hand down the braid itself as if taking in its structure. It was an awkward and unusual way of touching hair. But Leia supposed it made sense for a pilot-mechanic who was suddenly expected to go from the zero of no-touch-at-all straight into hyperspeed. She refused to think about the fact that the last person to touch her hair was likely either her mother or her father— she couldn’t remember which. Different kind of touching, anyway. She would stay here, in this moment, now.
He reached the elastic at the end and undid it. Han wasn’t meeting Leia’s eyes anymore, though she could feel him sensing her cues; if she breathed wrong, she knew he’d stop and check on her. He began to unravel the braid, running his fingers through her hair. As he grew more confident, his movements got faster, firmer, as if he had been holding himself back for a long time and was hungry to experience this part of her. He stayed careful, attuned to any signs that he might be hurting her.
Leia had known she would take her hair down for him eventually. She had thought it would happen during sex—that at a certain point, she wouldn’t be able to stand having that boundary between them anymore, and she could attribute her choice to the heat of the moment. This way… well, she’d been brave before. So many times. In different arenas then this one, maybe. But then this one was softer, at least.
She reached up to undo her other braid, which would be harder for Han to reach, allowing him to touch more and more of her. She closed her eyes, letting herself enjoy the sensation.
“How’s that?” he asked.
“It’s nice,” Leia said.
“Wish I had the words to tell you how pretty you are.”
“You find other ways,” Leia assured him, giving him a soft smile.
She would need to keep finding other ways to tell him things too. At least until her words caught up with her.