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Theirs was not the most romantic proposal.
Leia supposes that goes without saying; neither of them are very romantic people. They just haven’t had the time, or, really, if you ask her, the interest.
They’ve never had to engage in sappy romantic gestures to be secure in the other’s affection. No; they’ve always known (all right, fine, maybe barring a few incidents) where they’ve stood with each other.
Leia never expected a romantic proposal from Han.
She didn’t expect a proposal, period.
She expected to have to eventually needle Han to the altar, just to save face, because people still cared about Leia Organa’s personal life, and gallivanting about unmarried with a former criminal (turned war hero, but she knew what people would say when the tide turned) around the galaxy was not what people expected of her.
It was ridiculous, but it was what she was used to. She’d always been in the public eye, her entire life, no matter how her parents had tried to shield her.
She figured she had a few years before anything needed to happen, anyway. They’d all won enough goodwill to get away with a little more than they were used to.
So she was surprised when it happened.
It was the night after the battle. Victory was sweet, but what was even sweeter was sneaking away for a few minutes alone on the Falcon with no ewoks (or brothers) to interrupt them.
What they really needed to do was talk, but they had plenty of time for that later. Neither of them were in much of a talking mood, still high on adrenaline.
So instead of talking, they stripped each other down, unable to get enough of each other. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the battle, of surviving. Maybe it was the chance to finally be alone, knowing that no one would be inclined to venture onboard the Falcon any time soon. Maybe it was just that they loved each other.
It didn’t matter what it was.
In a matter of minutes, she had Han naked and in his bunk.
“Slow down, your Highness.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He smirked. “What, you don’t want me to get you off?”
“Shut up,” she said, pulling him in for another kiss.
Han shifted them so that she was on her back. He trailed kisses all down her body, stopping to lavish attention on a few spots he knew were particularly sensitive, until he reached her legs.
She spread her legs open for him, and that first lick still sent a jolt through her, no matter how familiar his touch was to her.
They’d done this enough times (mostly driven by the fear that they could die tomorrow) that it was already intimately familiar; he knew what she liked, and he delivered.
(Say what you will about Han, but he’s always cared about her pleasure.)
He licked her, touched her, sucked on her clit. By the time her orgasm was close, Leia was sure she couldn’t take much more. She knew Han knew it, too.
This particular orgasm was so powerful that she almost blacked out. Han continued to lavish her with attention through it.
She’d barely come back to before he was up kissing her on the mouth again and saying, “I really want to fuck you.”
She nodded; fuck, she wanted that, too. “Yeah. I want you to fuck me.”
So he spread her legs wider and pushed into her. She didn’t bother trying to suppress a moan at the sensation of him stretching and filling her.
She’s always loved this. Han wasn’t the first person she’d slept with, but from the start, it was clear that he’d be the best.
She still isn’t a romantic, and even in that moment, high on adrenaline, she wasn’t about to have any idle thoughts about being made for each other, or anything like that.
No; he felt good. She loved him. He loved her. He cared about her pleasure, and he did his best to deliver. She cared about his pleasure, too; their relationship was equitable.
That was all it was. Maybe loving each other made the sex better, but she wasn’t even sure about that much.
What she was sure about was that the sex was great.
They found their rhythm together, and Leia allowed herself to focus only on Han, on how he felt inside of her, above her, all around her.
She knew he was close when he reached a hand between them to circle her clit, but she didn’t mind one bit. She arched into him and lost herself in the pleasure.
They came at the same time.
He stayed inside of her, on top of her, pressing her into the mattress.
“Not bad for a scruffy-looking nerfherder,” she teased.
She expected some easy teasing back, like always. Instead, he said, “Marry me.”
She hesitated. “What was that?”
“Marry me,” he said, pulling away just enough to look her in the eyes.
He was serious.
“Marry you?”
“Yeah. I know – I know I’m just some guy, and you’re still a princess and a Rebel leader, but… I love you. I want to marry you.”
She didn’t point out that he was a Rebel leader, too. He wouldn’t have been, not without her. “You won’t regret this later?”
“Never,” he said. He leaned in to kiss her. “What do you say?”
As if there had ever been any doubt about her answer.
“Of course I’ll marry you.”
He grinned his typical easy grin, but when she met his gaze, she could see the plain relief in his eyes.
He’d been nervous.
The realization was endearing. She knew she made Han nervous sometimes, of course, but about this? She never would have thought her answer wouldn’t have been obvious.
It was Han.
She kissed him. “If we do it quickly, maybe we can escape some big thing.”
Han’s grin took her breath away. She was going to marry this man. “I like the way you think.”
-
It was kind of amazing how quickly they moved.
Two days later, they were on a planet that was only too grateful to have them as guests, whose leaders had set up lavish suites for each of them.
They invited Luke, of course, and Chewy, and even Lando. Threepio and Artoo came, too, even though Han bitched about how they were amassing a crowd.
(Leia knew they’d never hear the end of it if they didn’t invite the five of them, and eventually, Han came to agree. Besides, it was nice to be surrounded by people they loved.)
The wedding was small. Quiet. No crowds, no publicity. Just friends.
It was perfect.
-
Now, Leia sits in a lavish suite with Han, who is somehow actually her husband (the reality hasn’t quite yet sunk in), unsure of what to do next.
Han is at the bar, fixing them both a drink. Not that they really need a drink; the past few days might have been a blur, but they’ve been a wonderful one.
Maybe it’s telling that they haven’t jumped right back into bed together (though things were certainly steamy this morning…), but Leia isn’t sure.
While the done thing on one’s wedding night is to have sex, the weight of the past few days is starting to come down on her.
It’s not like she doesn’t want to have sex with Han. She does. She pretty much always does, because it’s always fantastic.
She just doesn’t know whether she’ll be awake enough.
It’s like a decade’s worth of exhaustion has hit her all at once.
Han comes back to the bed and hands her a drink.
She takes a sip without even asking what it is; chances aren’t great that he knows.
But it does taste good, so there’s something.
Neither of them speak at first; it’s comfortable.
She glances over at him.
Han is her husband. How weird that is to think. She’s a married woman. Han’s a married man.
She’s Han’s wife; that’s the weirdest thought yet.
Leia never particularly pictured herself becoming anyone’s wife. She’s always had a strong independent streak that drove her parents crazy. She thought she might have to marry for political reasons some day, but she hoped that wouldn’t be the case.
And then she’d met Han Solo.
It’s not like she’s undergoing any kind of personality change. No; she didn’t even take his name (nor he hers).
It’s just that Han’s made her reconsider a lot of things.
“Would you kill me,” Han begins, “if I said I was too exhausted to have sex tonight?”
Leia breathes a sigh of relief. “Not at all.”
“Really?” he sounds doubtful.
“Really.”
“It just like…”
“The past few years have all hit you at once?” she guesses.
He smiles at her wryly. “Almost like you were right there with me, Princess.”
“Almost,” she agrees. “Honestly, I just want to finish my drink and curl up in this bed and sleep.”
“It’s like you took the words right out of my mouth.” He takes a long sip of his drink. “I’m really glad you married me.”
“I’m glad, too,” she says.
He taps his glass against hers. “To the rest of our lives.”
The rest of their lives. The thought makes her feel safe, secure. Loved. “The rest of our lives,” she echoes.
They make light conversation as they finish their drinks, and when they’re done, Han collects their glasses and puts them back on the table.
He helps her out of her dress; she helps him out of his clothes.
They slide into the bed, which is more comfortable than it has any right to be. Han pulls her into his arms; she rests her head against his chest.
“I really do love you,” she murmurs.
“I know,” he says.