A female voice--her voice--quietly calling his name. Insistent yet soothing. Confident, whispering tones.
His head turns slowly to look at her, look up at her. For long moments, her image glows above him, shimmering, insubstantial. There is a translucent quality to her skin. She appears ghostly, wraithlike. His breath cowers within the confines of his chest; he is frightened the slightest exhalation, the softest whisper of breath, will be enough to extinguish her presence, scatter the substance of her being like pollen in the wind.
Her lips curve into an approving smile as she floats above him, suspended in the room's dusky sky. Gradually, she solidifies. Her eyes, sultry-dark with promise and carefully nurtured secrets, are a smoldering contrast to the moonlight white of her skin. Long cinnamon hair cascades down her back, around her shoulders, tumbling down to gently swaying breasts. Her nipples perk and redden with anticipation.
Entranced, he lies trapped beneath her gaze, his mind a mess of incoherent pleasure. Her body slides down onto his, her warmth enveloping him, a delicious, shivering, devouring sensation. He tentatively traces down the outline of her slender torso, hands gently caressing the angle of hips and thighs. Her flesh comes to rest moistly against his, eyes closing under heavy lids. He groans, sighs with appreciation and with long repressed desire.
He has dreamed of this moment. Lain awake at night, alone in his bunk, wondering what this could be--would be--like. Until now it had been just that. A dream. A crazy fantasy of a frustrated, oversexed, and obsessed spacer. But this must be real. His senses are invigorated, bewitched. No dream could feellike this. He pushes the doubts from his mind.
Her legs are folded up on either side of his hips; her eyes flicker open, lips twitch mischievously.
"Looks like I finally have you where I want you," she tells him.
His tongue is thick and clumsy in his mouth. His mind blanks, fumbles for a response. He wants to tell her he always knew there would be benefits to serving under her. Wants to tell her how beautiful she is, how wonderful she feels. How much he has longed for this moment. But she is stroking the muscles of his chest, fingers playing with the soft hair, brushing enticingly across his nipples. Words fail him. His skin tingles at her touch and a shiver of pure lust spikes through him. He swallows, his throat dry and tight.
"Leia," he mumbles inadequately.
The sound of her easy, vindicating laughter calms his thoughts, eases his tension, and a wry grin settles across his face. His hands caress her thighs, her buttocks, the small of her back. She feels good. So good. He aches for her.
"Lost for words, Solo?" she teases, gently pushing the hair from his forehead. "If I had known this was all it would take to shut you up, I might have done this sooner."
His eyes close as her fingertips trail down the side of his cheek, and when he opens them he finds her face close to his. She kisses him, mouth open and moving against his, breath sweet and inviting. Compliant, he follows her lead and returns the kiss, his mouth accommodating her forceful tongue. Her hair falls about their faces, the fresh scent of her filling his nostrils, pervading the very fabric of his being. His senses are overwhelmed.
How's this happened? How'd we get here?
The idea is a fleeting wisp of fog, disappearing the moment it is chased. But there are her hands again...so soft, tantalizing. No...how this began doesn't really matter. She is finally here, in his arms, and doing all the things he has dreamed of her doing for so long. He won't doubt the reality of this for a moment longer. Can't afford to.
With her hands firm against his chest, she pushes herself upright so she towers above him, mistress of his body. Her hands cover the back of his, and she drags them across the front of her chest and up to her breasts. She encourages him to cup the firm mounds in his palms. Her skin is silk in his fingers. He wets his lips in anticipation of taking her breasts in his mouth, tasting the heat of her body.
Smiling, she rhetorically asks, "Where have you been all my life?"
The weight of her pressed against him imbues him with the sense to respond. "Right under your eyes. Waiting."
Delight and affection tinge her laughter. She tilts her chin provocatively. "A bit like now, wouldn't you say?"
He wants to shake his head in wonder. Where has this woman come from? Is this really Leia?
He feels as if he is a teenager with a girl for the first time, giddy with strange new emotions and sensations. He momentarily doubts he knows his way around a woman's body--thiswoman's body. He has watched her from a distance for nearly two Standard years, only able to imagine what she looks like beneath the virginal senatorial robes and the severe rebel uniform. He has wanted this for so long it has begun to inundate his waking thoughts as well as his dreams. He has an unnerving feeling she too has yearned for the same thing.
She is staring deep into his eyes, and he can hear her speak though her lips remain closed. Her thoughts tell him she has dreamed of this moment, has longed to feel his body pressed against hers. She is tired of maintaining the pretense she does not care for him. For too long she has been afraid to reveal these emotions, unleash her passions. She has resolutely barricaded herself behind her sense of duty and responsibility, and her own personal war against the Empire. Everything she has ever loved and considered precious has been brutally taken from her. Perhaps this is why she has hid and denied her feelings for him, for she does not want to lose him, too. And, perhaps, she has been afraid he does not feel the same for her. But now, somehow, the time is right. The first night of the rest of her life.
An unfamiliar wave of euphoria, emanating from deep within his chest, ripples across his soul. He is profoundly touched by how much of herself she has revealed to him. In his eyes, she is as beautiful in strength and spirit as she is of face.
The words flow unbidden from his lips. "I love you, Leia."
Her fingertips stroke his lips and she smiles, just for him. "I know, Han," she whispers. "I love you, too. I always have."
Astride him, she begins a slow, sensual, rhythmic motion, long hair brushing past her open lips as her head dips, neck stretches. His hands drop to her hips and he slowly lifts her up, allowing her to move back down onto his body by herself. She leans down and kisses him deeply, hands running through his hair, hips continuing to move. His hands slide up her body, collect her breasts and bring them to his mouth. His lips caress each delicate nipple, drawing the desire and excitement from her body into his. Her thrusting increases. She is consumed with her need for him and her own pleasure, and yet her hands never stop stroking him, caressing and squeezing the muscles of his shoulders, his arms, his chest, gliding down across his tight abdomen. He writhes shamelessly beneath her. Both crave release, but, at the same time, never want this delicious torture to end.
The moments and sensations mesh...the taste of lips and mouths and skin, the musky scent of lovemaking, ardent gasps, bodies joined as one, skin against skin--
Han's eyes flew open and he jerked upright in his narrow bunk.
Thump Thump THUMP!!!against the bulkhead.
A loud howl carried through the closed hatch to his cabin, concerned and questioning. The adrenaline coursing through his system helped him to quickly orientate himself. He rubbed a hand across his flushed face and through his sweat-slicked hair. Perspiration beaded his skin and the air in the small cabin was stifling. The ship's environmental control systems had certainly picked a fine night to go persnickety; midsummer on the backwater planet of Kurrijiong was yet another reason which kept the tourists away.
"I'm fine,Chewie!" Han hollered blearily to his partner. "Go back to sleep."
A low growl escaped Han as he realized he'd simply been dreaming--again. And apparently he had been loud enough to disturb Chewie, though with the Wookiee's sensitive hearing, he hadn't necessarily been that loud. Just loud enough to be embarrassing. He didn't doubt his partner would tease him mercilessly over the next few days.
Han's growl turned into a near whimper as he rolled over onto his stomach and hugged the pillow. Damn.Almost every night for a week, Leia had visited him while he slept. He'd had some of the best sex of his life in those dreams. But they hadn't all concerned him and Leia in his bunk, or her bed, for that matter. Sometimes he dreamed of simple things--like walking barefoot down a deserted beach with her, their fingers interlaced as she smiled at him, toes squishing through the sand as they strolled along the water's edge, laughing at the simple pleasure of sharing each other's company. Once he dreamed about watching her braid her hair, fascinated by the way her fingers skillfully weaved the strands together...
He really couldn't take much more of this.
Angrily kicking the sheets off his hot legs, he was aware of the pulsing ache in his groin, the moist stiffness pressed hard against the mattress. Why Leia? he moaned inwardly, his face pressed into the pillow. There were more alluring, seductive, and attainable women among the ranks of the rebel troops: a few he had considered asking for a quick "jump through hyperspace," a few who had approached him with the same suggestion, and a few with whom he'd already "pulled the lever." So why Leia? Why now, after all this time? Sure, she was an attractive young woman, feisty enough for his liking and he had to admit he enjoyed her company when she wasn't preaching the Alliance creed to him, and she had a quick, dry wit which appealed to him. But she was a princess, for Kest's sake! A spoiled child of the Royal House of Alderaan. The thought of a princess--not just this princess, but anyprincess--and a guy like him...well, that wasn't just a dream. That was a child's bedtime story no self-respecting storyteller would dare repeat. And yet...what was it about this petite pocket dynamo that had recently piqued his interest?
Interest, Solo?he asked himself skeptically. You call this interest? Can't think of anything lately,but her. You're acting like a love sick kid.
Love...He hadn't really said that word to her. He'd only dreamed he had.
He knew he didn't love her. He likedher and desired her sexually, but any more than that and he'd be deluding himself and her.
Maybe he'd only said he loved her in his dream to convince her of the propriety of her actions; in the past, he'd certainly told a lot of woman an awful lot of things just to get them into bed. But he'd never actually told any of them he lovedthem. He didn't believe in playing with someone's emotions. Even he had his limits.
"I love you, too."Her voice resonated in his ears. "I always have..."
Sometimes, when they were alone together or when he caught her furtively looking at him, he could almost imagine maybe she didfeel something for him. Something more than friendship. Whether it was love, though...
Han punched at the pillow and ground his teeth together. This is ridiculous! Kest, I don't wanna marry her,he thought angrily, dismissing his self-doubts. I just wanna screw her!He pushed a hand through his hair again and sighed heavily. But there's far more easier targets around here than that one. Let it go. Unlock and re-aim.
Restlessly turning over onto his back, he thumped the bulkhead with a clenched fist and settled his legs back onto the mattress. The heat was obviously getting to him. What he needed was a solid night's sleep, free of interruptions from Wookiees and princesses.
He closed his eyes, trying to clear the jumble of remnant images from his mind. His legs twitched uneasily in the stillness. He rolled onto his side and, despite the heat, dragged the pillow across his face, wrapping his arms around his head. He sighed again, trying to relax.
Forget about her, Solo,he chided himself. You dont' need that kinda trouble.
For long, oppressive moments he lay on his bunk, listening to his own heavy breathing and trying not to imagine where Leia was just then.
The ECS finally kicked in again with a whump,sending a cool breeze skittering across his naked body. It succeeded in cooling the temperature of his burning skin, but not the effect of his dream.
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