Make Mine a Double
By Justine Graham and Erin Darroch
Leia Organa smoothed the skirt of her formal dress and settled into her seat at the table beside Han Solo as applause faded around her, feeling jubilant and more than a little bit tipsy. She’d just finished delivering the last official presentation of a rather long and tedious post-war Core Worlds conference, and it had gone very well—or, at least she thought so; it was all becoming a bit of a blur. Certainly the warm response from the audience this afternoon was even better than she’d been expecting. Cheerfully, she decided she ought to consider drinking four glasses of Rydonnian spicewine before every speech from now on. Although that beverage was far more potent than her usual choice of drink, it seemed simultaneously to smooth away all of her irritations and to stimulate her senses in the most enjoyable way; plus, it was deliciously easy to consume.
On the dais, the Chancellor of Sacorria took the podium again and began droning on and on about something or other, and Leia had to stifle a yawn. After a morning of back-to-back lectures, followed by four solid hours of keynote speeches, group discussions and formal presentations—as well as far more alcohol than she was accustomed to imbibing in one afternoon—even Leia’s eyes were beginning to glaze over.
Unwisely reaching for her wine glass yet again, she glanced sideways at Han, who appeared to be doing an excellent job of feigning attention to the Drallan speaker at the front of the room. With a glimmer of amusement, Leia wondered if it were actually possible for her Corellian sweetheart to sleep with his eyes open. He certainly seemed to be doing that right now, and Leia wasn’t the least bit surprised. Although he’d volunteered to accompany her to the conference, acting in the dual capacity of pilot and personal security, he had a much lower tolerance than most people for such brain-draining, bottom-numbing activities. Leia noted with interest that, despite the fact he wasn’t ordinarily much of a drinker, the tumbler full of Corellian whiskey in front of him was easily his third or fourth. Eyeing him speculatively, Leia decided he must be bored out of his mind and in need of a little light entertainment.
Buoyed by her celebratory mood, and feeling the effects of the unprecedented amount of wine she’d consumed already, Leia dropped her hand beneath the table to Han’s thigh and gave him a little squeeze through the coarse fabric of his dress uniform trousers. His only response was a little twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. But when she began tracing a lazy, swirling, circular pattern with her fingers, beginning at his knee and traveling slowly up the inside of his thigh, she saw him arch one eyebrow almost to his hairline. Leia paused, biting her lip to keep from smiling, and then resumed sneakily stroking her way towards his groin. Han shot her a quick, incredulous glance before composing his face and directing his gaze back towards the podium, clearing his throat and shifting just a little lower in his seat.
With a furtive glance around to ensure that no eyes were upon them, Leia grew bolder. Keeping her elbow tucked in and being careful of appearances, she dragged her fingers up Han’s inner thigh until she reached her ultimate goal and began a slow, deliberate stroke. She was rewarded by the immediate and vigorous response of his body to her touch, and increased the pressure of her caress ever-so-slightly, enjoying the corresponding twitch under her fingertips. But years of playing Sabacc had evidently equipped Han with the superb ability to bluff, so although she could feel him rising to the occasion, as it were, the only outward sign of his predicament was a slight catch in his breath and a barely perceptible clenching of his jaw.
And still the Drallan Chancellor droned on, thanking each speaker in turn—and with needlessly elaborate detail—for their respective contributions to the week-long conference and to the war so recently ended, sending half the delegates off to sleep, and the other half gesturing for more wine to numb the pain. Leia smirked to herself, enjoying the more tangible distraction she’d discovered under cover of the sumptuous tablecloth, and wondering how much longer they were going to have to endure the litany of gratitude before they were dismissed. The sound of her own name brought her focus sharply back to the room, though, and the Chancellor’s next words stopped her teasing ministrations dead in their tracks.
“And in addition to the lovely Princess Leia of Alderaan, whose fortitude and leadership has been such a shining example to us all—and whose, ah, very lively speech this afternoon kept us all greatly amused—our gathering has been graced by the presence of another illustrious representative of the New Republic: General Han Solo of Corellia!"
Leia pressed her lips together and surreptitiously withdrew her hand from Han’s lap as the hundred or so members of the audience began shifting around to look towards their table at the rear of the room. All eyes focused on Han and, to his credit, he managed to summon a little smile and even sketched a reasonable salute to the crowd. Leia registered his response only dimly, however, because her wine-fogged mind was suddenly trying to work out if she’d actually intended her speech to be amusing.
“General Solo,” the Chancellor boomed from the dais, “we so seldom have the opportunity to hear from you directly, although your bravery in rescuing the princess from the first Death Star and your courage in subsequent battles against the Empire have long been applauded by us all. We would be deeply honored if you would please take the podium and say a few words to the assembly.”
As the audience applauded the Chancellor’s suggestion and continued to look towards Han with expectation, he swiveled his head in Leia’s direction. Glancing at him, she instantly read the plea in his eyes; it was as plain as if he’d spoken the words aloud: You got me into this, Princess. Get me out of it. Fast!
Leia’s eyes widened. Leaning forward, she reached for her wine glass and lifted it to her lips once more, trying to maintain a straight face.
She could intervene, she supposed....
But where would be the fun in that?
An hour later—and with two more glasses of spicewine coursing through her system—Leia, with Han at her side, joined the milling crowd of conference delegates as they trailed behind Lady Marzenia Ashnus, the Sacorrian Minister of Culture, as she proceeded down the vaulted corridors of the Dorthus Tal Parliamentary Palace, through one of the ubiquitous formal parlors and out onto an adjoining stone terrace. After the seemingly endless speeches had finally come to an end, the crowd had been divided into smaller groups and assigned to official guides whose job it was to accompany the delegates on a walking tour of the palace and grounds; an excursion that was meant to be one last “treat” for those who’d endured the full duration of the conference. Presently, Lady Ashnus was urging the twenty-odd members of her group to take up places along the stone balustrade bordering the edge of the little terrace, and directing everyone’s attention to the quaint but beautiful town square below. Though it was just past sunset in Dorthus Tal and the light was beginning to leave the Sacorrian sky, there was still plenty of illumination from the softly glowing village lights, and most of the crowd leaned over, craning their necks for a view. Leia hung back slightly, though, and Han stayed with her, a few steps behind the rest of the group. The Minister’s bright, melodic voice prattled on, relaying snippets of history and pointing out elements of architecture, as the guests crowded around making appreciative sounds and venturing polite questions.
To Leia, the sound of Marzenia’s voice, the muted chatter of the guests and the hum of activity from the square below all blended into a singular droning with a lulling quality. Were it not for the odd unintentional jostle or the sharp, rousing laugh of another guest, Leia was certain she could fall asleep standing up. The generous measures of alcohol she’d imbibed had softened all of her senses and left her feeling relaxed to the point of lethargy—and increasingly woozy. She wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped away to one of the palace parlors to curl up on a sofa for a nap.
Behind her, though, Han’s looming presence offered a renewed focus for her waning attention, as he drew near enough to touch. He seemed to have forgiven her earlier attempt to torment him with her teasing caresses. Or perhaps, she mused with an inward smirk, he was just back for more entertainment. Whether intentionally or not, he’d certainly positioned himself well, she thought as she cast a glance over her shoulder to be sure there was no one behind them. Keeping one hazy eye on the distracted crowd and feeling grateful for the cover of the deepening twilight, Leia slipped a hand down behind her own hip, relying on familiarity and physical memory to guide her hand to its goal.
This time, she was rewarded not only by the telltale hiss of his sharply indrawn breath, but by the slight forward press of his hips against her palm. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lift his tumbler of whiskey to his lips and take a sip. To outward appearances, he seemed as interested in Lady Ashnus and her history lesson as any of the others in the group, but the insistent nudge against her palm told a different story. Pressing her lips together to stifle the urge to laugh, Leia cupped her palm over the growing bulge and felt the heat of his body rising under her hand. One tiny part of her mind—the part not completely debilitated by too much alcohol—was mildly scandalized by her own indecorous behavior. But she was having far too much fun to stop now, and Han certainly wasn’t going to interrupt what she was doing to remind her of the rules of etiquette.
Conveniently, Lady Ashnus still held the attention of the crowd, now directing their focus off to the western edge of the square, so Leia continued her surreptitious caresses. Dragging her fingernails up the length of him, she scraped lightly against the rough fabric of his trousers, creating a faint vibration and eliciting a shiver from Han that reverberated through her fingers. Enjoying his reaction, she traced the thick outline of him again through the fabric, increasing the pressure of her touch as she felt him twitch heavily in response. She repeated the motion a few times, firmer and slightly faster than before. Abruptly, Han closed the narrow gap between their bodies, nudging Leia’s hand out of the way and sliding one splayed hand around her hip to pull her fast against him. Leia wrapped both of her arms around his as it encircled her waist, and then tipped her head up at an angle to catch a glimpse of his face. He met her gaze with a smoldering one of his own, and Leia couldn’t help herself. Heedless of the nearby audience, not even checking to see if anyone was looking their way, she stretched up and lifted her mouth to his. Han obliged her unspoken request, his mouth descending on hers and capturing her lips in a deep, hungry kiss for one long, delicious moment. He tasted faintly of whiskey and Rodian peppers, and the touch of his lips made Leia dizzy with desire, but he withdrew too soon, and she was left feeling slightly bereft—although she supposed, somewhat hazily, that it would be highly inappropriate to continue such passionate caresses in present company.
Turning her attention back towards the tour group, Leia squinted and tried to focus on what Lady Ashnus was saying, but the full force of that last glass of spicewine was just beginning to hit her system and she felt as though her eyes were crossing. She blinked slowly, trying to clear her vision, but soon gave it up as a lost cause. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned her head back against Han’s chest and watched the darkness swirl and swim behind her eyelids. Han pressed up against her, the hard ridge of his erection jutting insistently against the small of her back, and Leia smiled. She answered him with a languid nudge of her hips, a deliberately slow movement designed to make him crazy, and was gratified to hear him release a low groan, which he swiftly converted into a little cough and a clearing of his throat. Leia grinned, straightened up, and opened her eyes.
“Yes, General Solo?” The clear voice of Lady Ashnus pealed like a bell through the evening air. “Did you have a question?”
Behind her, Leia felt the tensing of Han’s body as all eyes turned in their direction once more, but he had long ago mastered the art of pretense. Barely skipping a beat before he responded, his rich baritone voice was a warm caress against her ear. “No, no questions,” he responded over the heads of the small crowd. He lifted his tumbler, now nearly empty, in a toasting gesture. “I just wanted to say, I’m really enjoying this evening.” Smiling, he brought the glass to his lips and tipped the remaining liquid down his throat.
Lady Ashnus smiled widely, clearly thrilled by what she interpreted as Han’s praise. “Thank you, General. I’m so pleased to hear that.”
Han beamed another smile and waited for her to return her attention to the group before Leia felt him relax and heard him expel a pent-up breath. He gave her waist a little squeeze with the arm still encircled there, and she felt the firm reminder of his highly aroused state prodding against the upper swell of her hip, before he released her and reached to set his empty glass down atop the flat stone balustrade.
The Minister, calling out now over the murmuring chatter of the crowd, encouraged everyone to follow her back into the building as the tour resumed, and she began extolling the significance of the antiquities awaiting them in the vast corridors of the palace. Leia turned to follow, politely allowing the rest of the crowd to pass through the doors before she moved to fall in at the rear. Suppressing a little snicker, she wondered if their next stop would provide another opportunity to entertain her bored Corellian companion.
Before she reached the threshold of the palace, however, she felt Han’s strong hand close around her wrist, and then his urgent tug pulled her around to face him. In an instant she saw that he was far from bored now. The look of unbridled lust in his eyes told her that his first impulse was to drag her to the rough stone floor of the deserted terrace and give her exactly what she wanted—and what he obviously wanted, too. With both hands now around her wrists, he pulled her close, and their mouths met in a molten kiss, tongues tangling in a delicious fusion of wine and whiskey that made Leia’s head swim. Then Han’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, raking deliciously down the slope of her back to her hips and pulling her firmly against him, then skimming up the smooth bodice of her shimmersilk dress to gently squeeze and stroke her breasts, before sliding warmly around the nape of her neck, his fingertips venturing under the loose arrangement of her hair to graze her scalp, sending shivers of longing racing down her spine. He drew back and met her eyes with a gaze that went straight to her head like another glass of wine, before descending to capture her mouth again in a kiss that made her moan.
Taking full advantage of the fact that they were alone and out of sight of the others—at least, for the moment—Leia boldly returned his urgent caresses. She worked her hand between them and slid the flat of her palm down lightly over the front of Han’s trousers, then dragged her fingertips back over the hard length of him with gentle pressure on the way up, delighting in the strangled groan that escaped his throat. As he bent his head and began to blaze a trail of scorching kisses down her neck, she slipped her hands under the hem of his uniform jacket and hooked her fingers into his belt loops, then pulled his hips tightly against hers. The momentum made her teeter precariously on her heels, and Han tightened his grip around her waist to prevent her from toppling over completely.
Through the fog of lust and alcohol, from some far-away, wine-drenched corner of her mind, the voice of her saner self cautioned—not here, not here—and Leia paused, trying to gather her words. Before she could voice her concerns, though, she found herself in motion, being led by the hand over the threshold of the terrace, through the parlor and down the plushly carpeted corridor, stumbling slightly behind Han as the ornate interiors of the palace passed by in a gilded blur. Slipping down a side hallway that veered off the main corridor, Han brought them to an abrupt halt in front of the first door he found. Leia peered blearily around his shoulder at the placard on the front, squinting at the Aurebesh characters printed there, and dimly made out the words “Executive Council Meeting Room” in bold letters that swam before her eyes, and then she squinted again to read “Authorized Personnel Only” in smaller script below. This printed injunction elicited a fit of laughter from her; knowing Han, he would consider being half-crazed with desire and desperate for privacy to be authorization enough.
“Ssh, Princess!” Han hissed, giving her hand a little tug. “You wanna get us caught?”
He nudged the door open, and Leia found herself ushered into a large, windowless, ornately decorated room, which was dominated by a long, rectangular central table and surrounded by an array of carved wooden chairs with upholstered seats. Leia drifted into the room and stood swaying, vaguely aware of Han poking his head out for a quick glance up and down the hallway before shutting it quietly behind him, plunging them into complete darkness. There was the sound of Han fumbling around for a moment, and then the room was softly illuminated as he located the light controls and dimmed them down to minimum. Leia blinked and squinted as her eyes adjusted, then swiveled unsteadily on her heels as her muddled brain registered the sight of Han stripping off his uniform jacket and then dragging a couple of chairs in front of the doors to act as a barrier.
The floor started to tilt at rather disconcerting angles beneath her feet while Han assembled his makeshift security system, so Leia kicked off her shoes and made her way over to the conference table, then began an awkward attempt to hitch herself up onto it. The heavy, slippery fabric of her formal gown hindered her movements, however, and she slid back to the floor with a thunk. Leaning back against the edge of the table, she cupped both hands over her mouth in an effort to muffle another burst of helpless giggles. Han appeared in front of her then, frantically shushing her again—though he seemed to be laughing, too—and wrapped his hands around her waist. Then, as if by magic, she was perched on the edge of the table, and he was standing a few steps back, raking her from head to toe with a heated gaze. Leia smirked at him, tilting her head to one side to keep him in focus. For a moment, she sat swinging her dangling feet coquettishly, and then she leaned back on her hands and parted her knees in silent invitation.
“Gods, Leia,” Han ground out, and suddenly he was between her thighs, his strong arms wrapped around her back and his hot mouth fastened on hers. He kissed her deeply, coaxing her lips apart, and stroking her tongue with his. Leia breathed a little moan, wound her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, delving deeply into the delicious feel of his lips against hers and relying entirely on the strength of his arms to keep her from falling back.
Dimly, she was aware of him fumbling one-handed with the full skirt of her dress, shoving the heavy fabric up until it sat bunched around her hips, and his roughened fingers stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh. His deep voice reverberated in her ear, muttering what sounded like questions: something about too much to drink, something about waiting, something about later?
“No, not later,” Leia insisted, gasping, and clutched at his shoulders to hold herself upright. “Now.”
“You’re sure, Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, his breathing ragged, his tone sincere. But he was already sliding his hands up the bare skin of her thighs again, hungry for her, wanting her to say yes.
Resolutely, Leia lifted her hands to either side of his head, trying to hold him still so she could give him her Most Serious Look. She found it helpful to close one eye. “I know exactly what I’m doing,” she whispered fiercely, then drew his mouth to hers for another deep, urgent kiss. She broke the contact and drew back a millimeter, breathing heavily. “And I know what I want.” Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pressed her mouth to his once more, drawing his lower lip in and sucking lightly on it until she heard him groan.
He dragged his mouth away from hers and along the line of her jaw, then pressed his face against her ear. “You’re driving me crazy, Leia.” As he spoke, his hands continued roaming restlessly under her skirt, venturing higher up the inside of her thighs, stroking the tender creases there with his thumbs.
“Mmm,” she hummed with pleasure at his touch, and smiled in satisfaction at his words. “That was the plan….”
Han growled low in his throat and slid his hands around the curve of her hips, snagging his fingers in the thin Morvolian lace of her panties. She heard the rending of the material, and felt the delicate garment give, and then a firm tug as he pulled them free. She had a muddled, fleeting thought about the expense of that tiny, ruined scrap of fabric, but it was lost in Han’s muttered curse as he pushed the folds of her skirt up out of the way again, his hands fumbling in his haste. Leia sighed, smiling, and leaned back, coming to rest on her elbows.
Then his dark head dipped low as he sank down between her thighs, and her awareness splintered, conscious thought giving way to pure physical sensation, fragments of perception driven by her senses alone….
…the heat of his breath between her legs…
...the deft touch of his fingers…
...the silken stroke of his tongue….
She lifted her knees and draped her legs over his broad shoulders, then dropped her head back, concentrating on every exquisite caress of his lips and hands. In the midst of her abandon, the voice of her saner self whispered to her again, and a single thought flickered through her mind: what if someone finds us here, like this? Her drunken mind tried to imagine the scandal that would erupt if the last princess of Alderaan were to be discovered looking so thoroughly debauched, with the roguish Corellian’s head buried between her thighs.... The idea was strangely thrilling, though, and it fueled her urgency. Leia whispered Han’s name, half plea and half demand, and arched her hips, urging him on with a heightened sense of need.
She felt him straighten up in response to her voice, her legs sliding down to dangle to either side of his hips again as he rose to his full height, and then she felt the warmth of his hands through the shimmersilk of her dress as they stroked her waist and ventured higher up her body. Leia sighed and stretched out on her back beneath his touch, giving herself up to pure sensation once more…
...his strong fingers stroking her breasts, tweaking her rigid nipples through the thin silk...
...his eyes, dark with desire and urgency and need, meeting hers in the dim light…
...the nudge of movement near her knees and the distant metallic clink of his belted trousers striking the floor....
He settled between her thighs and she felt him for the briefest of moments: strong and hard and impossibly warm against her sensitive flesh. Then he hooked his hands behind her knees and she felt the exquisite, stretching sensation of fullness deep in her core as he entered her in a single, powerful thrust. They groaned together, and Leia felt overwhelmed for a moment with the pure pleasure of their union, the satisfying weight of his body pressing against hers, and the heat of his presence inside her. Then he began moving within her, driving everything else out of her mind, everything except for the sweet friction between them...
...the taste of his mouth, whiskey and spice, and the familiar scent of his skin…
...the sound of his ragged breathing, and her own breathless moans…
“General Solo? Princess Leia? Did you get lost?” The high, melodious voice of Lady Ashnus rang like a gong through Leia’s addled mind, silencing her in an instant and bringing Han’s movements to a sudden halt.
Their eyes met and they clung to each other, locked together and frozen in place, as they listened to the sounds of their erstwhile group passing along the main corridor nearby. Once again, they heard their names being called as their solicitous tour guide retraced her steps, looking for them. Despite the imminent danger of discovery, Leia erupted into a fit of uncontrollable snorting giggles, which were quickly smothered by the palm of Han’s hand. Widening his eyes, he shook his head at her, fighting to keep his own laughter in check, and wincing slightly as Leia’s body spasmed beneath him in suppressed mirth.
The Minister’s voice drifted to them once again from farther away. “They must have decided to depart before the end of the tour,” she mused aloud, her voice tinged with disappointment. “That truly is a pity. General Solo seemed quite fascinated with our history, and I’d saved a few of the most interesting pieces for last. Well, I suppose we should move on….” The sound of the Sacorrian woman’s voice faded along with her footsteps, and it became clear that the tour group was once again in motion, and heading away.
Leia finally released the tense breath she’d been holding, then found Han’s eyes again and they both burst into quiet snickers and snorts of helpless laughter. Leia shifted up onto her elbows and Han, still buried deep inside her, scooped one strong arm behind her back and pulled her up to meet his gaze. She clutched his shoulders and beamed a happy smile up at him, squinting a little as she tried to focus on his face. His hazel eyes were slightly red-rimmed with the effects of the alcohol he’d imbibed, but they were alight with amusement, too, and gleaming with hungry intent.
As he gazed at her, he slipped his other hand under her skirt, sliding slowly up and down the length of her thigh, creating a delectable friction that made Leia’s blood thrum in her veins. Her eyes flickered to his sensual mouth; she wanted to devour those lips, to nip and nibble and kiss her way across the tender flesh, and she licked her own lips in anticipation. Then his warm mouth was pressed against hers once more, and every nerve ending caught fire. Opening her own mouth a little wider to accept the teasing tip of his tongue, she gasped as he began to move inside her again. He hooked one hand behind her knee to hitch her closer—as if they could possibly get any closer, as if they could merge—and the intensity of their mutual need transformed the last of their gasping laughter back into urgent moans, and groans of pleasure. Han then resumed his steady movements, rocking her body slowly at first, and then with increasingly powerful thrusts, as their tongues tangled together and Leia’s fingertips raked through his thick hair.
After a moment, they broke apart, panting for breath, and Leia tried to meet Han’s gaze once more. Though the room was swimming and he looked a little blurry around the edges, she managed to give him a triumphant grin. “Bet you’re not bored now, Flyboy,” she said archly.
She was rewarded with a gleam of white teeth and the crinkling of his eyes as he broke into a grin, and then he dipped his head down to drag kisses up the side of her neck. He pressed his lips against her ear, and his rumbling voice hit Leia’s system like a double-shot of Corellian brandy, instantly and deliciously trebling her intoxication.
“You’d win that bet, Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’d win that one hands-down.”
Authors’ Notes: The setting and timeframe for this story were borrowed from a longer fic we wrote together (“The Only Constant”). This little interlude could serve as a follow-up to that story, so if you’ve read that and you’re wondering...yes, the sadly ruined Morvolian lace undies are brand-new. But that’s a story for another time. :)