Day and Night

By Cindy Olsen
Cindy.Olsen@ona.gov.au

Art by Liz
liz80218@hotmail.com

The rest...the rest is a glorious mess of the sixteen times we made love in that cabin. Becoming acquainted with his body, and with mine. Learning how to touch, to stroke, to kiss. Learning how to love, and how to be loved. Discovering Han and myself.


I have vivid recollections of that flight to Bespin. Images so substantial I sometimes awake, gasping at their intensity...


...I sit above him, my legs straddling his narrow hips, gently rocking. The exquisite touch of his hardness inside me is intoxicating; he seems to have been made especially and specifically to fit within me. His hands slide up my thighs, my hips, the side of my ribs, then tenderly cup my breasts. He throbs within me and I squeeze him in return with muscles that until recently I never knew I had.

A dreamy smile melts across his features and I sigh contentedly. My hands stroke his chest, fingers weaving through his chest hairs, brushing across his nipples. Emotions and levels of pleasure play across his expressive face. I cannot resist the urge to lean down and kiss him deeply, run my hands through his hair, my hips continuing to move. Gasping with desire, I throw my head back and revel in the pure sensations radiating throughout my body. Ahead, I sense a point of sexual fulfillment which I yearn to reach. My thrusting hip movements increase as I focus on this apogee. The fervor forces me on and up, until an undeniable surge sweeps through me. I cry out with pure pleasure as I gracefully pitch forward onto his chest, my hair falling across his face. His arms wrap around my shoulders as I tremble with ecstasy, pant with exertion. My mind and body are overwhelmed by the strength of the sensations they have generated; all I can think is how incredibly beautiful and spiritual it all feels.

Unexpectedly, he chuckles in my ear, kisses my cheek. Confused by his reaction, I lever myself up on his chest so I can look at his face. His hazel eyes shine with delight and his lopsided grin encourages me to swipe the scar across his chin in rebuke.

A touch defensively I ask, "What's so funny?"

He unsuccessfully tries to curb his grin. "I was just thinkin'," he explains. "This is the first time I've ever been ravished by a princess."

Uncharacteristically, I see the humor in his joke. But two can play at this. "I'll have you know," I advise him mock righteously, "this is a first for me, too."

"Naaahh," he drawls dismissively, but I nod my head in protest. His eyebrows raise as if considering this new piece of information. "Well then," he amends, "you're a natural."

I smile at him ruefully, run a finger down his cheek. "I think I've had a good teacher."

"The best, sweetheart," he tells me with a wicked grin. "The best."

How could I not agree...


...he is above me and within me, twitching with anticipation. His cheek presses against mine, nuzzling my ear, my neck. The passion radiates from him and his mouth finds mine. The kiss is hot, desperate. Breathlessly, we part.

He wantsme. His urge is as uncontrollable as is my feeling of being enveloped in his absolute need for me. I lean up, kiss the base of his neck, the bulge of his larynx, to evoke an ardent moan.

He drives himself into my body, deeper, faster as I run my fingers through his hair, down the back of his neck, over his broad shoulders. He kisses me again deeply, and I respond to his demanding tongue with equal eagerness. His arms pull me towards him as if drawing me into his body as much as seeking to enter mine...


...and then there is the tranquillity that surrounds us after we make love. The gentle caresses of gratitude, happiness, accord. His warmth enfolding me, holding me, falling asleep with his body cradling mine...


It is only when finally given the opportunity to explore one another, to freely give and receive pleasure, that we grow to know and understand each other. Our scope for showing tenderness and care in private ebbs to our lives outside his cabin. The arguments and anger are gone. There is a playfulness in our banter, and we realize the strength and depth of our friendship. We do not hide our displays of affection--the simplicity of holding hands, sitting in his lap, openly embracing. I personally have a weakness for patting him fondly on the behind, while Han takes great delight in emphasizing our height difference by kissing my forehead.


Underlying it all, however, is the unspoken knowledge that it will not last. For eventually we arrive at Bespin.


The love we share that night in Cloud City is more poignant than any time before. Although assigned separate sleeping quarters, there is no doubt we need just one room. We are 'old' lovers by now, and our love is familiar, unconstrained, but not casual. Slow, luxurious, savoring. Memorizing the shape of each other, the textures, scents, tastes. As if saying good-bye...


The moonlight from Bespin's twin satellites drifts through the glassine window, bathing us in its blue-white glow. We lay naked at the end of the bed, sheets rumpled around us, pillows on the floor. After twelve days sharing his bunk and cabin, we have more than taken advantage of the relatively gigantic bed and suite; I wiggle my feet appreciatively.

Han is flat on his back, chest rising quickly, breathing with exertion, eyes closed in complete relaxation-- 'recovering', as he calls it. Pressed up against him, I am on my side, my head propped up on one hand as the other plays idly with the hairs on his chest. I have grown to love watching him like this, lying naked in front of me, a sheen of perspiration glazing his face and body. I have always appreciated the sight of him, from a basic physical point of view, but when I look at him like this, something twinges within my breast and all I can think is how beautiful he is.

This is what making love with Han means to me; more than the physical act, as pleasurable that may be, it is the intimacy and togetherness that I love. When I feel closest to him. When we are a part of each other.

We lay in silence for long, peaceful moments, relishing the sensations--the soft mattress; the coolness of the bed clothes; the pleasant weariness in our bones; the air tinged with the scent of love.

My fingers trace along his clavicle, down his right biceps. I burnish the fascinating scar of an old blaster wound and again wonder when he will tell me the story of how he received it. With a shudder I realize, Perhaps never.A darkness on the periphery of my vision causes me to quickly glance around the room, but there is nothing to be seen. I have been unsettled since the Falconentered Bespin's system. I had thought--hoped--a night with Han would ease my tension, but it has not. Something is not right, and, I hate to think it, I have a bad feeling about this place...

I glance down at Han again, as if he has called my name. There is a noticeable shift in the atmosphere between us; something intangible has changed. A slight chill in the air causes me to shiver, and I move closer to him, seeking solace in his body heat. His breathing is softer, shallow, and he stares up at the ceiling, eyes focused beyond the decorative moldings. The muscles in his jaw clench, but I continue stroking his arm. There is something on his mind. Something he doesn't want to talk about, yet feels he must. I dread the moment he will speak.

"Y'know I have to leave," he says quietly.

The words sink through me, knocking against the walls of my chest and settling deep in my stomach. Since we have become lovers, I have refused to think of his departure, the moment when he leaves me. However the logic is obvious; he will never be free until he has repaid his debt to the Huttese crime lord. Above all, I fear for his safety. Yet the thought that he will not be with me, and that he may not return, competes with my concern for his life. I do not know which nightmare is more horrible--that he will die, or that he will choose not to return.

I touch the back of his hand to show him I understand. "I know."

I search his face, but he continues to avoid my gaze.

"I don't know if I'll be back." His tone is deceptively indifferent, yet I know him well enough to hear the facade. "I can't promise anything."

This is a new game we are playing, one we have ignored until now. It is both dangerous and addictive. But it is time we sorted out where we are headed. I have a question that needs to be voiced but for which I do not want to hear an answer.

In the stillness of the room, my voice is calm and clear. "Do you want to come back?"

"Do you want me to come back?"

His ill-thought response deserves no reply. The movement of the mattress as I roll from his side causes his head to turn questioningly. I rise quickly, anxious for him not to sweep me back into his embrace, and yet yearning for him to do exactly that. But he does not.

Jaw clenched tightly, I gather my gown from the floor. As I slip my arms into the light fabric, I glance back to where he still lays. He has shifted onto his side, his arm angled out towards me, face half-hidden by the line of his shoulder, as if he unsuccessfully reached for me, his actions arrested by either my swiftness, my fury, or his second thoughts. His eyes gaze down at the sheets, then close disconsolately. I turn and leave him and our suite, ensuring the door closes behind me with a conclusive whoosh.

The apartment's main lounge area is dark and quiet. Outside the broad bay window, the city lights glimmer in as many hues and shades as Bespin's sunset. Chewie is either minding the Falconor searching for Threepio. Either way, the apartment is empty except for the two of us. For a moment I consider retreating to one of the other bedrooms and set the door lock. But that won't give Han the opportunity to follow, to apologize, to explain what he really feels. So I stalk around the room's circumference to the window. Cross my arms across my chest. Stare out at the lights. And wait.

Standing there alone in the room's coolness, I recognize my actions for what they are: inappropriate, overemotional and even slightly childish. But I do not yield. I have a right to act this way--I am in the right--in my opinion, anyway. We have established enough of a relationship that I feel entitled to behave this way.

The hair rises on the back of my neck and I shudder at the freshness of the air temperature. The tiled floor is ice against my bare feet; there must be a problem with the room's thermostat. No matter...

Time seems to loiter, as if it has been slowed down by the preternatural chill. The shivering has tensed the muscles in my neck and shoulders. I wish Han were here to rub away the tightness. His large, warm hands unknotting the stress I carry. What will I do when he leaves? How can I face a night alone in my bed, by myself? I have grown to love seeing his face as my eyes close, and waking to find his body still wrapped around mine, the stubble on his chin scraping my shoulder.

He's not coming.I consider that perhaps he has fallen asleep. Or doesn't care.

My thoughts become tangled, unshaped and desperate. When I hear the door to our suite open, I am so grateful that I almost rush into his arms without further hesitation or recrimination. However the time I spent as a member of the Imperial Senate has not been wasted; I stand my moral high ground.

"Leia?"

His voice carries a lilting, questioning timbre, as if trying to comprehend my actions. I hunch my shoulders against his presence, pull my arms tighter across my chest. He sighs loudly. I hypothesize what he's thinking: You wanna play this game, huh?I can't imagine him wanting to abide by these rules. Not a smuggler, a mercenary. Not Han Solo. But he again proves me wrong. He moves to my side, stands there solemnly and looks at me. I continue facing the window, not really looking at anything, more likely making sure I don't look at him. Out of the corner of my eye, I can barely discern his features; his face is shrouded in shadows.

"Leia."

His tone is now gentle, almost solicitous. For some unexplainable reason, a deep sorrow floods my senses, drapes oppressively around my heart. Tears pool in my eyes, splash down my cheeks. I bite my lip to vainly stop myself from trembling, stop the tears flowing. I suddenly realize what I have known all along.

I've lost him. He's gone.

With a muffled sigh of anguish, he pulls me into his arms. I lock my arms around his back, bury my face in his chest as he holds me in this comforting embrace, his cheek pressed against the top of my head. I don't want to think of anything except the warmth of his skin against mine, the softness of his lips on my forehead, the musky scent of him permeating my being.

He's gone. As good as gone...


We spend one more night together before they take him away from me. In the holding cell after Vader has sprung his trap. The Sith Lord is "concerned" enough about Han's health to grant him some time to recover from the torture before subjecting him to the experiment of the carbon-freezing chamber.

Myself? I have not been harmed physically, for Vader is well aware of my resistance to any mind probes or physical suffering. No, I have endured far worse. For I have been forced to watch them torture Han.


...even now, at such distance, the holo-vid images of Han strapped to the scan grid, screaming in agony, are etched deep across my soul...


The last night we share is relatively quiet and subdued compared to our recent nocturnal activities. Han sleeps for most of it, exhausted from the abuse his body has withstood. Lifelessly stretched out above me, he lays on the hard sleeping pallet while I sit on the floor, reclining against the wall, watching him and daring to hope.

Chewbacca has long since ceased his restless pacing. He sits opposite me, his blue eyes flicking anxiously between Han and myself. He mutters the occasional word of consolation and encouragement. Even though I don't understand Wookiee, I can hear the forced comfort in his inflection.

I have no desire to sleep. However, my mind insists I let go long enough to induce a light doze. I awake with a start as an arm slips around my shoulders. My head snaps up in alarm.

"Shh, easy," Han whispers.

Relief washes over me and I tenderly touch his face. His eyes are dark, skin pallid but he smiles his lopsided smile and adjusts his hold around me. His comforting presence lifts my spirits.

"Hi," he casually says.

My smile, like my voice, is small but appreciative. "Hi. How are you feeling?"

He shrugs dismissively. "A bit stiff, but that's the way you like me, right?"

I shake my head at his quip but smile again; his ability to find humor at the most difficult of times is one of the reasons that attracted me to him from the start.

"You should get some rest," I suggest, indicating the bunk with a tilt of my chin.

His arm slips down to my waist and he snuggles up closer. "I thought you might be lonely down here."

Despite the enjoyable feeling of his body nudged against mine, I am concerned he needs to recuperate. "I'm fine, Han. Really. I don't need any comforting."

As he rests his head on my shoulder, my arm gathers around his back. I brush the hair from his forehead, graze my lips across his brow.

"Well I do," he says softly.

I hold him closer, close my eyes against the pool of tears, and will away the shivering. Before long, his breathing slows and deepens. I disturb him momentarily to gently roll his head from my shoulder to my lap. On his side, face turned towards me, he nestles closer, arms placed loosely around my waist. His eyes flicker shut again as I push my fingers lightly through his hair, enjoying the intimacy of this sensual caress.

Eyes still closed, he quietly tells me, "Princess. Don't give in. No matter what happens. Okay?"

My throat tightens at the implications and meaning of his words. When I do not respond, he looks up at me, touches my arm imploringly.

"Will you do what I ask, just for once?" The sincerity in his voice is disturbing.

My lips form into a grim line. I stare into those incredible hazel eyes, watch the harsh cell lighting spark off flecks of gold, green and chestnut. Words cannot express what I feel for this man, this complex paradox of everything I admire and disdain. Yet now is the time words should be spoken. For if not now, then when.

I love you, Han. I always have. But you know that, don't you?

I nod my head.

"Don't humor me, Leia," he gently reprimands. "Or I'll come back and haunt you."

I turn my head from his inappropriate expression, don't want to think of what lies before us, but look back when he speaks again.

"Promise me you won't."

I swallow and nod. "I promise."


I have no holos to remind me of him. He did not like to have his image taken--an old habit of one who lives on the wrong side of the law. But I have one memory that I carry with me constantly, that stands out from all the others. One that I stop to look at when I need reminding of the promise I pledged...


...sunrise...the last we will see together...

Naked, he stands near the window of our suite in Cloud City, gazing out at the pod car traffic that sweeps by. The dappled tibanna-laced colors of the sky illume his face in profile, define the firm muscles of his body in gold and bronze. The serene touch of a smile turns the corners of his mouth. I call his name, and he turns towards me, his face beaming brilliantly in response.

"Hey, beautiful," he calls.

Laughing, and with a bound that sends body parts jangling comically, he launches himself back into our bed, and captures me in an embrace that can mean only one thing. I just wish he'd told me.


...forty-three minutes until my chrono alarm activates.

I must have fallen asleep.

Part of me wants to rise now, attend to my duties early, leave the dreams and the memories behind. It wouldn't be a first; in fact, I suspect they are beginning to expect it from me. I'm afraid I've become a predictable, cheerless workaholic.

Han always believed in living life for the moment, to its fullest. He would not be impressed with what I am doing to myself. Sometimes I do think he has kept his threat to come back and "haunt" me. I imagine him pointing that finger of his in my face and lecturing me as effectively as I've been known to lecture him. But then, if he was here to lecture me, I would have no reason to leave bed so early.

"To hell with the datawork, Princess,"he says with a slight twitch of a grin. "I've got a more interesting proposition to put to you."

Wouldn't thatsend the tongues wagging--"The Princess won't be in today. She has decided to stay in bed with her smuggler boyfriend."


Mmm...sounds like a nice idea...


...the warm caress of his skin...


...will it matter if I lay here a while longer...


...knees hooked behind mine...


...close my eyes and drift for a few minutes...


...stomach and chest molded up my back...


...relax...reach out...touch the tendrils of his spirit...


...his breath whispering through my hair...


...and maybe...maybe...


...a kiss as gentle as a summer breeze tickles my neck...




I love you, Leia.


I know.

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