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ABY 4 - some Mid-Rim hellhole.
Breathless, they tumble into the alleyway, her hand in his as Han pulls Leia in behind a dumpster. She wobbles briefly on her high heels, and regains her feet just as an explosion rocks the posh nighttime district from which they’d just escaped.
Good. One job down and done.
Han winces, panting from the exertion of the narrowness of their escape. He motions for Leia to stay in the shadows, then peers around the corner to gauge the progress of any pursuing parties.
Only to be dragged back into the shadows by a petite, manicured hand, calloused by combat. Her lips are on his before he has a chance to utter a word; a muffled, “Lei–mphf!” is all Han manages to get out before succumbing to Leia’s unspoken demands.
A hand slaps up against the rain-slicked brick next to her head, as Leia pulls him down to her further. She’s all teeth and he’s all confused tenderness. She wants this here and now, but he’s all muffled objections about how this isn’t good enough for her and they really need to go someplace else.
Somewhere else that’s better. For her.
She’d agree with him on any given day. Agree that any sentient being shouldn’t be looking for a quick shag in an alley. But Leia’s blood is hot and thick with adrenaline – she’s not interested in silk sheets, comfort and designer brands. This is adventure, something she could never have had in her previous life of constructed social safety and noble comfort. Not safely. Not her. And not with anyone, but him.
She knows he doesn’t like it, deep down. That he indulges for her sake. That here, in a place much like the one where his life was honed to a brittle sharpened edge, is the only place that she would even entertain this kind of adventure.
Lips clash, and raise fiery trails along jawlines and neck. She pulls at his jacket, then his shirt, looking for some desperate access to the tanned flesh beneath. He chuckles when buttons pop, and gasps at the cool hand on his pectoral. He kisses her harder in response, a low growl in the back of his throat. He is truly in it with her now, propriety be damned.
They press each other into the wall. Leia pulls him by his belt, her fingers nimble and quick, pulling the two pieces apart with practiced ease. Han steps back to undo the rest, then kneels before her, the long hem of her sequined dress in his hands. And then he’s asking for her permission.
A quick nod, and what she thought would be brief and brilliant, becomes something else as time slows to a crawl. His lips are on the apex of her thighs–tempting, taunting, and imminently pleasing. Her hand fists in his hair, urging him further. His name drops from her lips like a gasp for air.
By the time he rises to kiss her, she’s dizzy and nearly done. The rest is a blur of motion, sensation and rhythm. He’s hard and hot inside her, and she’s clawing at his back, her neck craned up to the veiled light of the stars above. She’s never wanted him so much. Not before in a such a vulnerable place–for her, for him.
The rain begins again as he growls his release in her neck. Rivulets of sweat, tears and water trickle down their cheeks. Flowing along skin and tendon to spill on to their collars and chests.
Leia lowers her dress as Han tucks himself in. The sound of stormtroopers approaching has the couple make nervous haste. Their moment concluded, Han bends over to adjust the strap on her dress, as Leia folds in his shirt tail.
The rain threatens to become a deluge and they realize they’re now stuck looking for shelter.
“I know a place.” Han says, raising a finger. “Safe, but not what you’d expect. Safe only because everyone leaves everyone else there the hell alone.”
Han doesn’t like what he has to do sometimes. But such things are part of the job description, and if the Princess is in charge, well… Han is game for pretty much anything.
That’s how he ended up here in some dive hotel, in a dive neighborhood, on a dive planet; with a Princess no less.
He hates having to drag her through the muck and blood of battle. Hates it as much as the vermin-filled streets they now slink through.
She deserves better. She deserves diamonds, silks and prayers of supplication. She deserves a good man, not a nameless rat that crawled out of Corellia’s sewers.
They emerge from an alley into a street lined with clubs and establishments in various stages of decay, lit by lurid red lamps. Han espies what he hopes will be a reasonably safe shelter until their ride arrives at the nearby port at dawn.
Han juts his chin at a building draped in long sashes emblazoned with their services. Leia’s nose wrinkles, and then she looks thoughtful. She turns curious eyes to him. Han shrugs.
“We only need it for a bit. It’ll be less suspicious if we rent it for just a few hours.”
Noting the patrons lounging and waiting, within and without, Leia gives Han a quizzical lifted eyebrow.
Han grins at her, and strides into the street, his arm lashed tightly around Leia’s waist. Leia musses her hair, releasing her long bangs to obscure her face. She wraps her left arm around Han, his holster close to her hip. If he's unable to draw his weapon, she’d sub in in an instant.
They check in with the clerk, who gives Leia a critical, lustful eye. Leia’s skin crawls and she’s not sure the word trust is even part of this being’s vocabulary. Han clanks down enough credits to buy two rooms, and a key chit is slid through the clear barrier’s slot.
“Up two floors, and then left.” Grumbles the proprietor. Han slaps down another, shorter stack of credits.
“Don’t tell the wife. Or the authorities.” Han growls.
A harsh laugh and the credits disappear. And Han leads Leia through milling patrons and giggling workers to their shelter for the night.
The room is certainly something else, she thinks. The walls are dark wood and mirrors. A heart-shaped tub bubbles in one corner, and a round bed in the middle of the room has (what she hopes are clean) sheets in the same scarlet as the lights and banners outside. It's all incredibly awful and fascinating at the same time.
“You take me to all the most interesting places.” Leia quips lightly, kicking off her shoes.
Han laughs, and lightly pushes her toward the ‘fresher and shower.
“Ladies first. Don’t take too long Princess.”
They spend the night in shifts. Leia opts for the ridiculous bed as the sheets are likely to be cleaner than any other surface in the room.
Han looks puzzled at her logic, and determines to spend his sleep shift in a chair with his feet propped up. When Leia wakes Han a few hours later, he grumbles and stiffly stretches like a loth-cat, a shadow of stubble now along his jaw.
He opts to stay up until they need to rise for the dawn. And Leia slides between satin sheets and sleeps.
Han starts at the blare of a far-off speeder horn. He curses, lifting his head from the table and scrubbing at his chin.
Damn, he’d fallen asleep on duty.
He jerks up, and nearly topples the chair he’d been sitting on.
Cursing under his breath once again and mentally berating himself, Han plows into the adjacent bedroom to see if Leia is okay.
And stops.
The princess lays partially on her back, curled around her holstered blaster amidst the glimmering red sheets. One arm is stretched under the pillow supporting her head, the other arm grasping the sheet to her bosom. Her features seem blissful and at peace. Her chestnut hair is spread in a messy array in a goddess-like aura all around her.
Stupefied, Han only manages to voice a low, “Wow.”
Leia stirs and stretches, blinking in the morning light. The early sun’s rays trace her form in a gilded halo. She seems oblivious to her appearance, as she settles back on her elbows and gives Han a teasing smile.
“Is your mouth open because you’re expecting breakfast? Because I hope you’ve ordered some.”
Han paws at the nape of his neck and looks away shyly. He makes as if to grab the room's comm unit but thinks better of it when Leia swings her legs off the edge of the bed and clutches the sheets to her torso. She pads over to him and chucks him under the chin flirtatiously.
“Or first we could do with an appetizer?”
Han can’t tackle her to the bed fast enough.
ABY 23 - the Core
Han leans back against the bar, nodding absently at the other Generals’ conversation. Senators, planetary nobles, and all manner of military and corporate higher ups mill around the grand hall. The air here might be filled with fine perfumes, and finer displays of wealth, but some beings’ ability to make his skin crawl is universal, no matter with what social class he chooses to keep company. Han mumbles something noncommittal to the group and takes his leave for another brandy, just as another retired Republic official launches into how it was better in days of yore.
Stars, Han hates this. He’s always hated this.
Han taps the bar’s wooden surface to catch the bartender’s attention. The being slides Han another glass filled with a liquor he couldn’t have afforded a few decades before. Now it is served to him gratis, a reward for a reformed being of good social standing.
Han sips at the drink, not wanting to dull his senses, despite all temptation to do so to avoid the responsibilities of his chosen position.
Nope, he has to remain relatively alert, as he’s eagerly waiting on Leia.
Nearly two decades as a couple, and they’ve weathered trials and tribulations, scandals, revolts and too many close calls. They’ve spent as much time together as their careers allowed. With Leia primarily on the move from one government hub to another, it’s been 50/50 at best.
Han furrows his brow at the swirl of drink in his glass. Had they spent enough time with their children? Now that the kids spend so much time at the academy with their Uncle Luke, Han feels a bit lost. He and Leia had joked about when the kids would fly from the nest, but Han hadn’t figured it would be this soon. That they were well educated and reasonably well-adjusted seemed obvious. But he wonders constantly if he and Leia have done enough for their offspring.
Soon the gold at the bottom of his glass becomes clear. Han is going to tap on the bar again, when a stir goes through the room.
A familiar warmth flows out from Han’s chest and tingles down his spine.
Leia.
Han plunks the empty glass on the bar instead and elbows his way through the crowd. A murmur spreads outwards like a wave from the hall’s main entrance staircase.
Pulling his jacket straight, Han cranes his neck over the heads of the attendees, first catching sight of Leia’s intricately braided hair.
Emeralds, topaz and rubies drip from gilded strands in her plaits. Earrings worth more than Han’s starship curve around the rim of Leia’s ears. At her neck Han glimpses an enormous ruby salvaged from the Coruscant treasures of the royal house of Alderaan. And above it, as a choker, a simple necklace that Han had gifted her after the birth of their second child.
He fidgets impatiently as she glides through the crowd, wondering at the stir. Leia is a stunner even with threads of grey in her hair, and the beginning of wrinkles at the corner of her eyes. Han can only guess at the rest of her attire as the beings press in close to greet the infamous Rebel Princess. Her nods and smiles are genuine for some folk, but polite and tolerant for most. Leia beams warmly at a Calamarian senator, and coolly receives another from Hapes. She moves like water through the crowd–smooth, silken and dangerous.
Han pushes his shoulder through a couple of ogling Bimms and places himself in her prospective path. He stands, hip hitched and forcibly casual, as his wife slowly approaches. Leia’s mingling pauses as she catches his gaze, and the crowd parts.
Twenty years and a half a galaxy disappears from Han’s brain as Leia steps toward him.
Just above Leia’s sternum a glimmering blood-red silk gathers in to round her bust and drape around her shoulders. It cinches and hugs the curves of her waist and flows out into a pool of color and a short train. She appears to move effortlessly, clasping a few more outstretched greeting hands before linking her arm through her husband’s elbow.
She looks up at him through thick lashes with bemusement.
“Hey there.” Leia says under her breath. She tugs him close after a few quiet seconds. “Loth-cat got your tongue?”
Han opens his mouth to respond with some smooth retort. But the best he can manage is a rasped, “Hi.”
Leia throws her head back, laughing softly. She leans in and whispers, “When the designer brought this one out for me to try, I couldn’t help but remember…” She trails off and raises her eyebrows at him.
Han feels a heat rush outward from his chest. He knew he was blushing deep red, and damned if he had no regrets.
Han wraps his arm around her waist and kisses her deep and long, in front of all and everyone. Murmurs and a few “Awww’s” sound out of the gathering. Han doesn’t care as he loses himself in her lips. They kiss so long that those closest become uncomfortable and turn back to the main gathering.
When Leia pushes him back, arms still around each other, she wonders about the obvious. Just to tease him of course.
“How do you like the dress?”
Han harrumphs and grasps once more for suave, but around Leia that ability is permanently out of commission.
The Princess continues slyly, moving the fabric gracefully back and forth. “When I saw it, I made sure I bought it outright, rather than the usual loan. Then and there. The designer was absolutely thrilled.”
Han barely hears her, his eyes filled with the sight of his gorgeous wife and the memory she wears as a dress.
Leia laughs and pulls Han down to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t say anything just now, but you do know why I bought the dress.”
Han stared at the line of her exposed shoulder, the smooth skin of her back, and the elegant poise of her torso wrapped in that incredible scarlet silk.
“Uh. The guy asked you to?” Han replies dumbly. Leia’s sudden gawp and quick covering of her bemused expression tells him he is way, waaay off, and that was a really stupid answer.
Leia says nothing then and merely, patiently smiles at him.
At Leia’s eventual eye roll, Han sputters, “You walk in looking like that, and expect me to think straight? Princess, I’m just not that complicated.” Han taps the side of his head for emphasis.
Leia slowly leads him to a balcony arch. Grasping both his hands, she leads him backwards to the evening view of the sprawling gardens outside.
She leans back against the carved railing and eyes Han head to toe.
“Think the railing could support us? Or should we find a spot against the wall in the garden?”
Han jerks alert, comprehension dawning. He switches gears from the crimson-induced muddle in his brain to something far older and more focused. He stalks the last two steps towards her.
“Both.”