Red Panty Introspective

By Aquarius


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This story is rated NC-17. Please stop now if you're under 17 or sensative to adult-themed material.


Han reverently studied Leia’s sleeping form atop the covers; she was face down, naked, save for the lacy red panties hugging the curve of her backside.  They were the kind he liked, the narrow ones that didn’t quite cover everything in back.

Although he longed to touch her, to hold her, even to just slip a finger under the fabric and run it between the lace and her silky flesh, Han decided instead to take her in as she was.  Her rich brown hair was pushed to one side, allowing him to watch the ivory plane of her back expand and contract with each breath she drew.  He realized he never got enough of Leia this way, that the moments she was relaxed beyond the confines of modesty and her conservative nature were too few.

Even as Leia slept, Han felt humbled in her presence.  She had a tenacity that could wear down even his stubborn streak.  Over time, her unwavering faith in the future had affected him, moved him to believe that the possibilities she envisioned existed.    Han had watched her give and give and give of herself in the name of preserving that vision, no sacrifice too great.

Before long, Han was sacrificing, too, as distasteful as he’d found it in the beginning.  Hell, come to think of it, Leia was the first one he’d sacrificed anything for in years, and that had been before he’d even learned her name.

Han smiled self-deprecatingly as he recalled the months that followed Leia’s rescue from the Death Star, and how he had deliberately tried not to remember her name.  Instead he took pleasure in calling her things like “sister,” and “sweetheart,” and occasionally “baby,” as though acknowledging her to even that extent was a gift.  As time passed, and Han begrudgingly accepted being “stuck” with Leia for a while, these names had evolved into more creative and irreverent misuses of her title, favorites being “Your Worship,” “Your High Maintenanceness,” and “Royal Pain.” 

Han now knew that what had superficially appeared to be a lack of respect on his part had actually been an unspoken acknowledgement of Leia’s ability to affect him, and a last-ditch effort to resist her.  It hadn’t worked, and for that Han was now grateful.

Many of Han Solo’s former associates might’ve accused him of going soft, for changing this way over a woman.  It was true that Han was a different man now; that he had, for the most part, dropped his self-serving persona in exchange for faith in others and a belief in things bigger than himself.  It was also true these things had happened because of Leia, but she hadn’t forced them on him, or made any demands.

All she’d done was share her hope and show Han the possibilities; she had opened a door and invited him in.  Since crossing that threshold, he never looked back or doubted.  Life with Leia had given him a sense of completion, filling a void he had previously ignored.  Sometimes it still seemed so alien, to love someone and to be loved in return. 

Han considered her for another moment before meandering to the ‘fresher for a shower.  Who ever would’ve imagined that the answer to the question of the meaning of life would be wearing red lacy panties?





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