The Tryst

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.

(Inspired by elements developed by owphoenix; used with permission.)


It was raining in Coruscant’s capital city. The cloaked figure of a man could be seen parking his speeder bike on an apartment building’s rooftop lot. He glanced furtively around, first to see if he’d been followed, then to see if a certain aircar rested on the duracrete.

It wasn’t there. He felt empty.

Maybe she took a public transport, he rationalized, false hope being better than none at all. Checking his chrono, he didn’t believe it for a moment. With trepidation he approached the lift that would take him down to the residential levels, cursing himself for being late. What could he have done?  His briefing had run over and—

The thought was snuffed out as he keyed in his access code. He’d bought this place several years ago, shortly after the Republic had reoccupied Coruscant. It was sparsely decorated since he’d never really lived there; things had moved pretty fast with the woman who would become his wife. He’d only slept there once or twice in the beginning, when they’d been fighting.

Only one other person in the entire Galaxy even knew this address. He’d been all too eager to give her the access code. It had seemed like the perfect place to go when this whole thing started.

Shaking off the damp chill of the outside, he moved toward the kitchen to start some caf. He thought he caught the fragrance of her perfume hanging in the air (She’s here!) and his heart soared…

…only to plummet when he spotted the data pad on the table, the indicator flashing that there was a message pending. She’d gotten tired of waiting, he just knew it. Disappointment washed over him, nearly knocking him to his knees as he reluctantly picked up the note.

Had something to take care of, it said. Be back as soon as I can. Don’t start without me.

Funny girl, he thought as he reread the last line. An irrational relief swelled inside of him and he relaxed visibly. How did she do that to him?  How did she take him from the peaks of hope to the sinkhole of despair then back again in the space of a single heartbeat?  How was she able to make him feel like he could live or die at her whim?

Like an automaton he made the caf, his body working without direction from his mind. In his thoughts he was already kissing the back of her neck and caressing her alabaster thighs and making love to her in a frenzied effort to bring meaning to an existence he had otherwise questioned and doubted before her.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts he barely heard the front door. Picking up his caf, he meandered into the living room just in time to see her drop the hood of her cloak, his hazel eyes brightening as she shook out her blond chin-length curls.

He watched her with a lopsided smile, mystified, awed.

“I’m late,” she said unapologetically, hanging up her cloak. As she caught his stare, she added, “I think I’m becoming more and more like your wife.”

He tensed at the remark. She saw. This time she did apologize. She had meant it to be funny. He anxiously accepted, desperate to leave behind the disappointment of forgotten plans and absent spouses that his domestic life often brought.

Hungry to touch her, to taste her, to breathe her in, he pulled her into his arms. “You’re here now,” he said quietly. “That’s all that matters.”  He put a hand behind her neck, brushed her cheek with a thumb, and kissed her with a fervor he hadn’t felt since the last time they’d met here.

Her fingers squeezed the front of his trousers. “Glad to see me?”

“You have to ask?”  He trailed kisses up her neck, pushed his tongue along the arc of her ear.

She shivered. “I missed you.”

With her customary assertiveness, she pushed him toward the bedroom. His shirt was a heap on the floor before they got there. She shoved him onto the edge of the bed and he pulled her down with him, his face buried in her cleavage.

When she found the strength to stand back, she began slowly removing her clothing. He loved it when she let him watch her undress. She was so painfully deliberate about every move she made, he was sure she was doing it to torture him. He couldn’t get his own pants off fast enough. She treated him to a view of red lace hugging her perfectly formed backside as she bent over, picking up her discarded clothing from the floor. She let the anticipation build until she knew he couldn’t take any more. Then in the blink of an eye, the lacy panties were gone, too.

He didn’t resist when she straddled him, pushing him down to the mattress. He loved it when she was in this kind of mood, the one that made it perfectly clear that she was in charge and there was no room for debate. It was this quality that had drawn him to her in the first place, made him love her. His instincts always told him to argue, to fight her, but he knew damn well how great the reward could be if he let her have her way.

He heard her moan softly as she slid herself down onto him. It felt so good to finally be surrounded by her. The world around him melted away as she became the center of his everything. He willingly gave himself over to his obsession, to her. Nothing made him feel as good about himself as being here with her. Nothing excited him more than the anticipation of meeting with her, that they’d be able to do whatever they wanted, however they wanted.

It was no longer like this at home with his wife; it never could be.

He supposed he couldn’t blame his wife for her demanding job and the busy schedule that went with it; sometimes he could be a pretty absent husband as well. Between their careers and their kids, they just didn’t seem to be available to each other as adults any more.

So being here like this, with this woman, became an addiction that filled the void in a way nothing else ever could. Though it made him feel weak to admit it, having a secret life gave him a rush he hadn’t felt since his days spent on the wrong side of the law.

As he lay there kissing her bare breasts, he almost felt guilty for needing her as much as he did. His rough hands caressed the silken plane of her back and he almost felt remorse for wanting to be so consumed by her.


He told himself he had nothing to feel ashamed for as he watched her writhe above him with grace and intensity rivaling that of a professional. He ran his fingers over her hips and backside and enjoyed how it felt as she shifted and swayed.

Tipping his head back he gasped, struggling to keep from letting go so soon. She took it as an invitation to gently bite him on the neck, just the way he liked. He was so close, and he knew she was, too. In a move to undermine her control, he slid a finger between their bodies and stroked her mercilessly until she reached her climax.

“Han!”  she shrieked with shock and delight.

The sound of her voice sent him spiraling down as his own painful want turned into release. He silenced her by pulling her lips onto his, savoring the sweet taste of her mouth as they shuddered together. He’d almost forgotten that it could be this way, that it could feel this good to be with someone.

They collapsed into a tangled heap on the bed. Han became aware that she was breathing harder than he was, her skin unnaturally hot. “You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just overheated, I think.”  She forced herself to pull away and sit up next to him. Pushing her fingers into her golden curls, she pulled the wig off and threw it onto the bedside chair. In another move she pulled out a couple of pins, and a long cascade of cinnamon hair tumbled down her back.

Han reached out to touch her reddish brown tresses. “That’s a lot better.”

Leia turned and flashed him a sly smile, shaking out her perspiration-matted hair. “What?  Don’t tell me you’re tired of the Other Woman already.”

Solo pulled her back down to him, reluctant to tell her how he sometimes still found it unsettling that she would keep her disguise on in the bedroom.

Despite being married, Han couldn’t deny that sneaking around like school kids and spies in order to be alone with Leia added a degree of excitement to a sex life that may have otherwise suffered from neglect. Even the nights they could get the children into bed early were often interrupted by his office or hers calling about some Republic fire that needed to be put out, or more frequently, they would simply collapse out of exhaustion, the idea of touching each other nothing more than a fleeting thought before sleep took them. When Han looked at his children, he was often amazed that he and Leia had even found the time to reproduce at all.

The couple had come to depend on these trysts for private time away from the demands of work and family. They made it a point to try to meet here at least once a week, either over lunch or after the Senate adjourned for the day. Leia was constantly being followed by the media since the war ended, so disguises were often necessary to keep this safe haven a secret. The idea of role playing was also intriguing, but…

The truth was, Han was so in love with Leia that it was difficult to imagine her in any way other than how she really was. He had to fight an irrational swell of guilt every time he let himself get aroused by her wearing a different color of hair or skin, or whatever she was using to hide herself from the public in order to steal away for their secret meetings. It felt like cheating on his wife with his wife, and that made him a little uncomfortable. Given the hand that life had dealt Leia, Han supposed he couldn’t blame her if she wanted to be someone else sometimes, so when she was in the mood he would play the game for her.

Kissing her softly, he answered casually, “Aw, the Other Woman is alright, but I still like my wife better. Just don’t tell her. She’ll get a big head.”

“You’ll pay for that later, flyboy,” she teased.

Shifting, Han held her tighter. “I guess you have to go back to work after this.”  He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice, but the trained ear of a wife and lover could never have missed it.

Leia shook her head. “I told them I wasn’t feeling well.”

He rested his head against hers. “The kids?”

“With their Uncle Luke for a sleepover. We can stay here if you want.”

Han looked at the four walls of the bedroom, painfully aware of the reality that waited for him beyond. An uninterrupted evening, cuddled up with his wife, was often nothing but a dream out there, but a delicious reality in here.

No, it definitely couldn’t have been this way at home.


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