Warning: Mature Content Ahead!
A/N: Inspired by a discussion on Han and Leia fanfic writer's blog, about sexual conservatism in fanfic. Someone suggested this was due to most sex in fanfic being driven by the need to show emotional connection, hence face to face, hence “no reverse cowgirl.” So this is my attempt at an emotionally driven reverse cowgirl.
Her Beautiful Back by AnnaFan
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected with Star Wars.
So, I'm lying on my bed. Looking at Leia's back. Her beautiful, naked back. Now most men, if you asked them what turned them on, would say breasts, ass, legs. And I'm not saying they don't do it for me. Course they do. But Leia's back does it for me too. Big time. Toned, lithe, muscles from combat training, but smooth too, curving down to her tiny waist. Gods, it's a beautiful back.
And I'm wondering how the hell it got to this stage. From “D'ya think a princess and a guy like me?” From the silent treatment. From her highness being too good for a guy like me. From the fights. From that conversation the night we had to put a drunken Luke to bed. The one where she just happened to mention she was, let's say, a bit more experienced than I'd reckoned. From the odd moments where we found a grudging respect for one another. To both of us, naked in bed. To me, lying here, staring at her.
It was one of the fights. I'd set out to wind her up. It'd worked. She'd gotten mad, jabbing her finger at me, telling me just what sort of a low-life I was. I'd called her stuck up, frigid. They were some of the better things. I'm not proud of it. But she gave as good as she got. Then suddenly she was up close, in my personal space. And I could smell her. And I knew I wanted her. Hell, I'd known that for a long time. But the difference this time was her eyes. Her dark brown eyes, like the strongest caffe I ever saw. The eyes that were dark with desire. Yeah, anger too, but mostly desire. She wanted me. As much as I wanted her. I could see it in her face. Gods, I could smell it. Even so, I wasn't ready for her next words.
“Gods, Han, fuck me. Let me fuck you.” So we did. Desperate, driven by desire, scrabbling, consumed by need. The first time. But not the last. But it's always the same. A frantic coupling. Then she scrambles out of bed (or off the desk, or the packing crate, or wherever we've been when need has overtaken us). She pulls on her clothes and is gone. There are no kisses, no tender words, no languid mornings in bed together.
I heard her one day, talking to Luke.
“I guess I'd always thought in terms of settling down with someone like me. Someone committed to political change. But on a personal level, someone who shares my interests, love of culture, interest in books, music.” I hadn't stuck around to hear any more. Not someone like me. Someone as far from me as possible. That's what I was hearing. But that was okay. Because I wanted what she wanted. A fuck buddy. Only I'm not sure we were even buddies. More like frenemies with benefits.
So that's how it got to this stage. I'm looking at her beautiful back, and she's riding me. Her hips move, a steady rhythm. Her fingers are between my legs. She's stroking me. I'm wild with desire. Any man would be. It's everything a man could want. Everything I want. Except that it isn't.
I want to see her face. I want to see her eyes. Not just dark with lust. I want to see them filled with more. I don't know what. Hell yeah, I do know. But I'm not going to say it. Not even to myself. Because I don't think I'll ever get it. So I lie on my bed. I look at her beautiful back.