Shut up with an Idiot, Whiskey and Comfort
Princess Leia Organa woke up fully clothed and sweaty in the bunkroom of the starship Millennium Falcon, clad in her white snowsuit and under tunic from Hoth. The young woman’s arm wrapped around one of the pillows, clasping it tightly to her skull. Her chestnut hair was partially unbraided, the ends loose and flowing down her back. Her head felt as if it was enveloped by a thick blanket muffling her thoughts, touch and hearing. Her fuzzy vision focused on the door at the far wall to the aft hallway. Her eyeballs felt as though the surface had been sucked dry. She attempted to lift her head. As Leia blinked the world seemed to snapshot from one second to the next, as though a strobe’s pulse lit her world.
She doggedly blinked away the fog in front of her eyes, but found the haze in her head had taken up permanent residence. The room rotated around her on a tilted axis and her head swam as she sluggishly determined where she was. It was vaguely familiar and felt safe. Her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose between her eyes. She yawned widely and animatedly, stretching her arms out around her, her joints cracking. The princess fumbled upright and after another series of gaping yawns her fingers cleared out the crusties of sleep at the edges of her eyes. She stared at the white flecks and black crust of mascara on her fingertips and wondered how long she had been in bed, or for that matter how she had arrived there in the first place.
Leia closed her eyes for a moment and felt the room spin around her. Her hand moved to grip the edge of the bunk and she pushed herself up, swaying unsteadily. Her right arm shot out to brace herself on the adjacent wall of the crew cabin. Her foot dragged through something sticky. She looked down and saw the half dried remains of an amber liquid spilled across the quarters decking that was now covering the bottom of her thermal sock. She lifted her foot with a “Yick” and pawed at the sticky spot underneath, nearly losing her balance when she raised her foot. Somewhere behind her a glass clinked as it rolled across the bunk.
Leia floundered her way in to the crew cabin’s refresher, covering the vast two metres in series of leans and stumbles. When she had dealt with her immediate physical needs and subsequent ablutions, she stumbled out and palmed the door access to the ship’s ring corridor. She was unsure what had occurred in the last few hours that had inhibited her memory, but she had no doubt that vagabond Han Solo had some significant part in in it.
No matter what, if it was his fault she would figure out the truth. She always did… Always.
Leia grasped the edge of the Corellian freighter’s steel bulkhead using it to propel herself forward down the hall. She rounded past the cargo bay on the starboard side, avoiding the main hold common area. Her feet seemed to float underneath her until she tripped on the raised edge of floor decking. Leia caught herself and stared accusingly at her offending foot as the other automatically dragged forward. Her world tilted as she collided with a coarse mass of smelly fur. She flailed momentarily, trying to disentangle herself from whatever she had run into. A tough leathery hand steadied her with a firm grip on her shoulder.
“Easy there, little Princess.” The being growled at her in its own tongue.
She blinked at the two and half metre furry mass of the Falcon’s co-pilot, briefly wondering how he had appeared so suddenly.
“Ah sorry, just on my way to the cockpit Chewie.” She attempted to wind her way around him to continue on her way.
There was a barking chuckle from Chewie, “Han says he’s on watch, not that he needs to since we fixed the long range sensors. I’ll be in my hammock for the next shift. I’ll leave you two to... sort out your differences.”
Leia smiled gamely at the wookiee and nodded as if understanding. She caught the gist, especially the ironic tone at the end, and that was enough to make the color come up to her cheeks. She moved aside to let him pass and hauled herself forward again. An irrational surge of anger went through her, she had the vaguest memories of Han hauling her to the bunkroom, the back of his shirt splattered with her drink. Her body slung over his shoulder, and her right fist lamely pummeling on firm musculature of the tall Corellian’s back, demanding that she be put down. And somehow she had managed to keep the half glass of alcohol mostly upright in her left hand, ice and all.
What had that been about?
She honestly couldn’t remember. Leia’s hand bunched and her fist connected with the starship’s walls’ crash padding. Three years of dealing with this insufferable half-assed criminal. Gods!
She huffed. That’s right, Han was here somewhere and she would make him pay for her indignation. She followed the black thread of irritation that wound its way through her inebriated mind. Of course she was angry with that ill-mannered, irritating, mercenary, scruffy, idiotic, foul mouthed scoundrel. At that last thought she recalled the sensuous curve of the scoundrel’s mouth as he leaned over her, weeks earlier, baiting her in the port circuitry bay. Leia remembered the way his head had tilted to the left, his eyebrows high in amusement, silently laughing at her choice of words for him.
“Scoundrel? Scoundrel!” He drew out the first vowels into a long note of affection, a wide heart-stopping smile spreading across that damned annoying smug face. His voice dropped to a rumble, “I like the sound of that.”
At that, she had wanted to slug him, or something overtly physical at least. The handsome smuggler had then kissed the lovely young Princess; gently, hesitantly, as if seeking permission. The Princess had kissed the captain back, daring him on. As if he could take her. Hah! She tried desperately to tell herself she hated him. Hated him for being a mercenary, hated him for trying to force her to confront her feelings, hated him for being so damned gorgeous, smart, witty, a tease… “Aaargh!” She grouched audibly in frustration. And damn him if that wasn’t working.
Leia punched each adjacent wall pad as she moved along the corridor, imagining each punch connecting with some portion of Han Solo’s body. Much like Solo’s real physical self, her imaginary punching-bag Solo winced, straightened and egged her on with that idiotic smug grin. It was turning out to be not much of a release.
Just as magically as Chewie had appeared earlier, the cockpit door materialized in front of the petite fuming drunken noble. The princess pushed her small body away from the wall and balanced on the balls of her feet, mentally preparing herself, straightening her back and holding her head regally. Inwardly she seethed, she plucked at her clothes, arranging her tunic top which seemed to be clinging to the skin of her chest. A hazy recollection of Han dressing her prone form flitted through her mind, her figure limp except for her hand clutching the drink. Coming back to the present, she punched the cockpit’s door control, mentally cursing the ship’s captain that was just beyond. Damnable scruffy-looking…
The door slid open and Leia marched in, smacking the lock closed behind her. As she stepped forward to address the lounging body in the captain’s chair, her foot clattered against a pair of bottles situated upright on the floor. She lost her indignant focus and noted the two amber liquids. One was the dark gold of the ubiquitous Corellian whiskey Whyren’s Reserve, the other bottle was more recently familiar. A viscous sunset colored liquor sloshed within, unlike the nearly empty Whyren’s , this bottle was two thirds full. Leia recalled the sticky spot on her sock, the splash of dried liquid near her bunk, her left hand subconsciously fingering the collar of her tunic, drawing it away from her chest once more. She read the label’s basic lettering, and the events leading up to her waking up in the crew quarters rushed over her in a confused jumble of memories. Her cheeks felt hot as her eyes slid up the floor decking to take in the lean form of the man Leia had barged in on. Their eyes met in the reflection of the cockpit’s semicircular forward viewport that looked out into the glittering star filled expanse of deep space beyond.
Han Solo’s lanky body was draped over the seat and armrests of his chair, his bare feet resting on the console in front of him. . He was dressed in his bloodstriped dark military trousers and a deep blue jacket. A well-worn low slung leather gunbelt hung off his narrow hips. He slouched nearly horizontal, an empty drink tumbler in his hand. His forehead rested on his other hand and his deep set eyes were slits, leading Leia to momentarily believe he might be sleeping. She smacked at his legs and he jumped a bit, drawing back his long limbs and straightening up by shifting his weight to his elbows on the armrests. It was languid and sensuous, like a feline stretching. The smuggler gave the Princess a brief glower of moody irritation.
Leia opted for Han’s style of intimidation. She planted her hands on either side of his headrest and scowled down at him, for once using height to her advantage, calculating what the next move was. He owed her… Bigtime.
“Nexu got your tongue Princess?” He provoked. A hot flush shot down her spine.
“You dumped me in that bunk!” She pointed her index finger at Han in perfect imitation of him. His eyes crossed slightly as he stared at her accusing digit. “Carried me there like a sack, like a,” she sputtered and stammered, “like- like the neanderthal you are!”
He gently pushed her hand away with the side of his wrist and gave her a withering look, “You were too drunk, your Highnessness! I don’t do comatose bodies. “ Solo snapped at her, expression turning from partially amused to exasperated.
Leia considered that. Maybe she had had passed out. She had most certainly maintained hold of her glass, unconscious or not. She remembered then, “You poured brandy on me!” She yelled at him indignantly. Leia felt herself beginning to lose this battle. No, that didn’t seem quite accurate either.
“It wasn’t brandy, it was Selonian Comfort,” he shot back. Han leaned in close to her, his voice dropped to a subterranean depth, his breath hot, and heady with alcohol. “And you practically asked me to do that. In fact, you initiated it! “
She startled, unsure. “W- What?” Had she? Oh Gods, that part was coming back to her now too.
Han reached down to put his whiskey glass on the floor beside his chair, his hand cupped her cheek, and he kept his voice low. There was a hint of tease in his deep whisper. “Oh yeah, it was a dare.”
“No, no. “ Leia’s hand fluttered to her brow nervously, “Not a dare.” She corrected, remembering, her eyes narrowed, “It was a bet! And you lost. It took seconds for you to give it up. You’re mine, flyboy.” She crowed triumphantly.
“It was hardly fair!” He whinged, a half-hearted argument at best.
“I won.” Leia reminded. “Drink,” she commanded, grabbing the Selonian Comfort, shoving it in his hands. Han uncharacteristically obeyed, lifting the bottle to his lips, wincing. He tossed back a healthy swig, gulping, eyes closed. He made a small sound that might have been a curious “Mmm”, the corner of his mouth lifted, clearly enjoying the tempered sweet burn of the blended whiskey variety.
Leia smacked him gently in the chest and raised the glass he had emptied earlier for a fill. Han poured her half a glass, and they saluted each other with a clink. Han took a few gulps, his larynx bobbing, all while watching Leia out of the side of his peripheral vision as she daintily sipped at her tumbler. Damn him, that was good.
It was all coming back to her now.
Just a few hours ago they had been at the main hold’s dejarik table chatting, laughing and drinking after a savory dinner the boys had cooked. One of few non-ration meals on the long haul to shelter and repairs at Bespin. After cleanup, Chewie had retired to work on some woodcraft projects, she and Han had settled in for a sedate evening of holo viewing. Han had retrieved the liquor from the ship’s cargo stores when she had tired of choking down the fire of the Whyren’s. Han proclaimed it perfect for a princess as it was the label preferred by the Selonian den-mother queens.
Han bowed, grandly flourished the bottle before Leia, “Selonian Comfort. Honeyfruit sweetened, spiced Corellian whiskey. Stupidly expensive too. Apparently a favorite amongst the ladies of the court. “ He grunted, untwisting the metallic green cap. “ Packs a punch too. “ He poured the rest of her abandoned traditional whiskey into his own glass and tipped the bottle of Comfort in her direction. “Ice or no ice, your Highnessness?”
Later, when Princess Leia had downed three fingers worth, she noticed Han still preferred the Whyren’s. “Drink wish shmee” she ordered imperiously, waving her hand at the Corellian as she would a palace servant. Damn, too much whiskey, too much Selonian Comfort. The room whirled around her.
Han noisily sucked back his traditional whiskey and pursed his lips at Leia, “No,” his eyes rolled up as he visibly wracked his brain as how to put it in diplomatic terms for a princess. He shrugged, gave up and very undiplomatically informed her it was a woman’s drink and he wouldn’t touch the stuff.
Feeling brave, she giggled at him, “ ’fraid your bitty boy bits’d shrivel all up Captain?” Han gave her a squinting look of distaste and she perched her fingers over her glass slurring, “I betchshya an undred-thausand credisht I can get you to want it sho much you’d lap up every drop I offer you.”
Han burst out laughing. He tossed his head to the side and his face lit up in a white smile, the Corellian’s unruly thick mop of brown hair fell into his eyes, and to her he was almost beautiful. Leia found herself gaping at him like a lovesick schoolgirl. He calmed and winked at the Alderaanian princess, fingering the sleeve of his threadbare old shirt that she had recently taken to wearing, her own belongings light years away on some cruiser after their hasty evacuation from Hoth. It was the same shirt he had worn three years earlier on the day they met. “I don’ts think so, you don’ts have…” he stopped and reconsidered, frowning. She was the last princess of a major royal house after all. Leia smirked at him and waggled her fingers, beckoning the pirate to continue. Han nervously drummed his long fingers on the gaming table, glowering accusingly at the bottle across from them. He was drunk enough to consider her as being serious, “Okay, okayyy…What if I lose?” he mumbled.
Oh, she had him now.
Leia took his hand, kissing the rough surface of his scarred knuckles. “Then,” she paused dramatically and dipped his first two fingers into the sweet liquid in her glass. She drew up her legs underneath her on the couch, facing Han. Gripping his wrist she pulled his dripping fingers in a line under her chin and down the smooth skin of her throat. “Then, you’re mine… forever. “ The half slurred, but heartfelt words tumbled from her as his fingers completed the run to bottom of the V on the collar of the shirt. The liquid staining the shirt with a golden medallion of color where she paused with his dripping hand. The whites of Han’s eyes grew huge, his gaze flicking from hers to her breastbone and returning. He ran his free hand over his hair in a nervous gesture and paused, gripping the back of his neck, licking his lips. The smuggler’s eyes caught her deep brown orbs and he surged forward, hauling her to him by the waist and feverishly lapped at the amber droplets on her exposed skin. Leia squealed with delight, threw her head back, and closed her eyes. His work-roughened hands roamed over her supple flesh; rasping, tweaking and pinching. She had writhed and moaned, his touch faded to a distant tingling and then she was fading, falling-
Han’s roguish features swam into focus before her again. His green gold flecked eyes sparkled with mirth, the skin wrinkling at the corners. A silken strand of her hair was being twisted through his fingers.
“Just starting to remember, Sweetheart? It’s only been a few hours.”
“Shut up. “ Leia ordered him in a snarl. She remained grumpy and unwilling to banter, especially about her passing out mid-foreplay. She roughly shoved him back in his chair, realizing that he only had his jacket covering his lithe muscled torso. Her fingers spread on the warm tanned expanse of his pectorals. The sparse down of his chest hair tangled lightly over the surface of her fingers. Her mouth watered at the sight, as the logical part of her brain wondered what kind of idiot wears just a jacket and no shirt while napping.
“Not gonna fall asleep on me again, are ya, gorgeous?” Han’s mocking voice interrupted her musings, piquing her ire. He appeared to like it when she was a little rough, and he constantly reminded her how beautiful she was when brought to anger.
This guy, Solo. She shook her head. And he was clearly an idiot. A beautiful, sexy, brave idiot genius who had saved her life innumerable times, risking himself and his beloved ship for her and her Rebellion. She’d spent the better part of the last few years reminding herself to try and hate him, and failing miserably. Here she was, trapped on an ancient limping starship with him for seven weeks, barely having evaded death yet again. Damn him.
“Shut up.” Leia yanked on the collar of that damned stupid jacket that framed his lanky form so well, pulling them nose to nose. Her eyes blazed angrily into his laughing hazel colored depths. The right side of his mouth quirked up and he opened it to tease her again.
“Hey, your Worship, be carefmphf!!” Han’s sentence was lost as she hauled on him and mashed their lips together. She sucked and nibbled his bottom lip. Han yanked his head back, fighting for air. “Ow! Ah, be careful…the glass! I’m not- ” He surrendered, as her teeth grazed along the long tendon on his throat. Han’s breath hitched, Leia’s blood thrilling when he shivered against her.
“You’re mine.” Leia hissed, her hand continued to clutch his collar as she gently dug her fingernail possessively into his firm chest. “You lost, you’re mine now. And you will do whatever I say, including shutting up.”
Han’s grin broadened. Clearly the idiot couldn’t resist. “ Y’know Princessnessness, I’m terrible at following ord-”
She silenced any further taunting with a fiery kiss. Leia clambered halfway into the pilot’s seat, intending for her knees to straddle his thighs. His holster interrupted her progress and she had fresh dose of fury. Leia clucked in frustration, downed her drink, pushing the glass into Han’s hand for a refill of Comfort. Han obliged, taking another swig himself as Leia’s small fingers clumsily worked his buckle.
“What-“ Leia’s teeth gritted, “…Kind of idiot,” she ground out. The wide silvery plate clicked after an age. “ …wears a full-on gunbelt while he’s-“ Confident, she jerked at his thigh strap, the more conventional fastener was rapidly undone with ease. “Sleeping!”
Han quirked one eyebrow at Leia, giving her a look like she was completely daft. “ Seriously? I wasn’t sleeping. Beside’s…” Han leaned close, shifting his frame to allow her to unwrap the holster from his leg and hips, his breath maintained the heady waft of the straight up whiskey he’d finished before her entrance. His voice went to its lowest register, whispering conspiratorially, “There’s guys like Imperials and even pirates out there.” His voice held itself together remarkably well when he was drunk, he barely slurred, much to her rapidly dwindling annoyance.
Leia tossed the offending belt aside into the co-pilot’s seat, snatched her glass from his proffered hand, and their lips met again. She took it slow this time, allowing her to slide up his body onto the chair. Han’s mouth rose into that infuriating lopsided smirk, he crooked his neck to lock his color shifting dark eyes with her chocolate brown ones. The diminutive princess was leaning over the long-limbed smuggler, relishing the way her position mirrored his usual towering over her when they were standing. Their tongues dueled, twisted and she broke off after a moment, gasping as his teeth nibbled the round edge of her ear. “ Aren’t you accused of being a pirate, Captain?” Han’s right hand held the bottle, his left circled her waist, pulling her close. Leia braced herself on his shoulders, balancing the glass in her hand, reveling in the swelling heat in her core. Han reached over the armrest, carefully replacing the third of a full bottle to a safer spot. Hands freed, he tugged impatiently at the zipper on her snowsuit, eventually sliding one cool hand under the fabric, around her torso to the base of her back.
Leia wriggled on Han’s lap. She shrugged at the shoulders of her top, first pulling off the side that held her glass. Han took the tumbler from her as she bared the creamy skin of that shoulder, and tugged the sleeves off her arm. Han sampled her drink from the glass, his sparkling eyes studying her intently as she stripped her upper torso of the thick insulated suit. Glass at his lips, he watched hypnotized, as Leia reversed out of the chair and wriggled her hips, legs and finally her feet out of her thermal clothing. She tossed the snowsuit lengthwise on the decking between the cockpit’s chairs, a pair of white panties and the tunic tank-top her only garb. Eyes smoldering, Leia leaned against the control panel and crooked her index finger at the transfixed pilot, beckoning.
Han socked back the remainder of her drink and deposited the glass on the deck next to the bottles. He gripped the armrest for leverage and practically leapt of the chair, lunging eagerly towards her. His eyes grew large as he wobbled, he straightened for a half second with a self-congratulatory grin, bracing himself on the console behind her and the co-pilot’s backrest. Betrayed by a body that had barely moved in hours, and having imbibed far, far too much alcohol, his left knee collapsed and he pitched sideways to the floor in a jumble of splayed limbs.
A yelp burst from Leia as she watched him fall, transforming into sputtering giggles as Han swore, comically disentangled himself from the chair bases, armrests, and his own appendages. He gave her a black look and leaned back on his elbows, his eyes dark underneath his brows, measuring her.
“Nerfherder.” Leia wheezed, laughing, falling on her knees to straddle him once more. Han shifted on the deck, trying to make the best use of her discarded snowsuit as a cushion. She plucked at the remaining webbing belt that secured his trousers. “You’re sooo funny.” She sniggered at his clumsiness. What a goofball. Leia mused, her heart swelling with affection.
Their fingers tangled as Han helped her unfasten his pants. Leia backed off enough to tug at the hem of the yellow stripe that was sewn down the side, sliding the material from Han’s narrow hips. Oh man, he was hot. Her hand traced a sensuous line up the solid washboard of his abdomen and across the pectorals to settle in the collar of that idiotic jacket he was somehow still wearing.
“I’m NOT a goofball.” He groused defensively. “I’ll take it off.” Han grunted, wriggling to remove the jacket.
Leia blinked, wondering if she had actually said anything and halted his actions. Her voice was a lustful rasp, “No, no, keep it for now.” She nudged forward and reached for the bottle. Han chuckled and he bucked his hips just as she raised it to her mouth, spilling the precious golden liquid down her chin and belly. In response, Leia pointed her sharp nail into the center of his chest in warning to still him as she took a swig. Han smirked confidently, and with a growl of irritation she tossed aside the bottle and whipped her top over her head. Han’s jaw dropped, and it was Leia’s turn to grin.
With a powerful move, Han deftly flipped her onto her back. He was on all fours over Leia, burying his face in the sensitive flesh between her jaw and shoulder. He raked his teeth along her neck and rolled his tongue over her ear lobe. Leia eyes closed and her fingers tangled in the thick hair at the nape of his neck as she guided him southward, helping him discover every drop of sweet gold on her body. She swore, cursed him, called him every name in the book and Han lapped up her rage, Comfort and all.
Satisfied with his performance he gently spanked her hip, and she barely could focus on his voice, her spiral easing into an electric tingle under her skin. “What can I do to you now” he husked in her ear.
Leia shoved Solo back, straightened herself up, stretching her spine. She stepped over him to lean against the forward control panel, being careful to not disturb any buttons. She bent over at the waist coquettishly, glancing over her shoulder at the love-struck pirate.
Han wobbled upright, shedding the hot jacket, kicking it and her snowsuit underneath the panel. He positioned behind her, gripped her hips. “Tell me, princess”
Leia looked back at him and snarled like a panther, her eyes fire. Sensing she wasn’t going to put up with him much longer, Han plunged his length into her in a smooth motion, and they both cried out. Leia snarled and pushed back at him. Han’s groans turned to growls as they accelerated. Their animal grunts and snarls bounced off the confines of the cockpit walls around them.
Leia’s knuckles went white as she clutched the console and her vision went blank. Her inner perception shifted, spreading out via the alcohol, the Force and the spice in the Comfort. Leia felt a numbing rush through her body, she felt weightless, and then a pinpoint of searing heat spiked from her core up through her pelvis as she fell over the edge into hot oblivion. Every nerve ending in her body lit up with white fire as she tensed and shivered uncontrollably. She reached back, desperate to hold him to her, desperate to stem the flood of pleasure that ripped through her.
“Leia! Leia, min min larel valle! “ Han cried out. She raised her head just enough to catch his reflection in the viewport in front of them. His lips were pulled back into a grimace as the taut bronze muscles of his body flexed and undulated. Their eyes locked, wide, consumed, feral and then they were both utterly lost, tumbling into the abyss.
The whirling of the cockpit around her settled when she became aware of Han’s callused hand caressing up the porcelain flesh of her spine.
“Holy gods, Leia.” Han rasped.
He stumbled backwards, catching the armrest of the navigator’s chair, collapsing into it heavily. Han’s head lifted to the cockpit ceiling, a limp hand over his brow, wheezing, trying to catch his breath. Leia maintained her death grip on the console for a time, fearing to walk as her bones had turned to jelly. After a prolonged moment she collected herself, his jacket, and staggered over to him. She crumpled into Han’s lap, drawing up her short legs to curl into a ball of comfort. Han’s head had fallen to the side; a blissful silly smile on his face. She instinctively wanted to both smack him and fall asleep against the warmth of his chest. She opted for the latter, and snuggled back against him under the jacket.
Han sighed contently, nibbling at her jaw. Leia absently traced the raised thread of vein on his bicep, every ounce of her indignant anger spent and forgotten. As he reached Leia’s collarbone she playfully pushed his head away, watching mesmerized as he swayed drunkenly, graceful in his goofiness. Han’s toe nudged the empty bottles on the floor, rattling the glass.
“Ready for another bit of whiskey and comfort?” he teased.
Leia blinked, stared exasperated into his laughing eyes, willingly going for the bait. She stroked the scar on his chin with her thumb, running her nail across the stubble, and kissed him languidly, tasting herself on his lips. “Shut up, Nerfherder.”