It Feels Like the First Time...Again (and again, and again)

(I'm pretty sure I stole this gif thing or whatever it's called from Elivagar's tumblr.  I don't think she'll mind and try to stop watching it for a second to read the post below...you can come back when you're done, it'll still be here.  I promise.) 

(Warning:  Adult Themes Below)

It Feels Like the First Time…Again (and again, and again)

Okay, so we all like sexy time right?  Well, I was engaged in writing a little bit of sexy time just recently and I sat back and wondered just how I might be able to describe this same act, yet again for this same couple.  It didn't help that it was Han and Leia's first time (again).  Something that I don't care to admit how many times I've both read and written (and thought about).  How can I possibly come up with new ways for them to experience this same thing?

The question can be expanded, as most can.  How many different ways can I describe a kiss?  He pressed his lips to hers.  She drew his mouth to meet her lips.  He kissed her soundly, deeply, tenderly, passionately.  Their mouths crashed together.  Their lips touched.  Feather kisses.  Crushing kisses.  Tongues and no tongues and what are the hands doing during all of this?  GAH!

And then of course all that kissing leads us right back to the sex.  We all like to read about it.  I think we all have some trepidation in writing about it.  What about after writing about it seventeen thousand times?  (Maybe not that many, but possibly.)  I first, try not to make it some worn out recipe, right?  They kiss, they fall down on the bed, Han goes south, Leia goes limp, Han inserts here and BLAM they're both done.  The End.  Finito.  Send it to print.

And just how many ways can this act be done?  I was actually discussing the other day (I won't name with who) how...adventurous the run-of-the-mill Han and Leia shipper might be.  It seemed to me that we all probably see this couple as fairly conservative and then wish to read them written that way.  I mean we barely read about Leia going south and if Han tried to go through the backdoor, I'm pretty sure that would be OOC for most.  (Oh my, did I just write that?)  I think Zyra may want to approve my posts from now on after that.

But seriously.  What's some different ways you've seen this same old thing expressed?  Have you ever struggled with writing the 'deed' and trying to find a new way to describe it?  Or a new way to describe anything.  A hug.  A kiss.  A look.  Etc., etc., etc.  Have you ever read anything and felt like (1) Ho hum, I've read this before, or (2) Yowza, it feels like their first time (again)!  What works, what doesn't?  What's acceptable to you?  What's pushing your limits and what's "No way, no how, Leia/Han would just never do that...ever.  Um...never..."?

Comment away... (and you can scroll back up to that gif thing now)

Actions Speak Louder Than Words: Second Submission by StatsGrandma

A DAY TO REMEMBER

(Leia's telling the story.)

It's a pretty morning here on Coruscant.   It's still quiet; soon, sentients and non sentients all over the planet will be rising, making breakfast, grabbing kafs, racing to work and school.  Our kids will be awake soon and the mad dash to assemble schoolwork, clothing, shoes, and supplies will burst on to the scene with a screech.

I feel very emotional today. It's an anniversary of sorts.  Namely, the tenth anniversary since Grand Moff Tarkin gave the order to destroy my home planet of Alderaan. I hope he's enjoying his eternity in the bowels of the nine hells.  Yes, I'm still angry about it, but more than anything, I'm deeply saddened.  This is always a hard day. 

I think about my father, where he was that day, what he might have been doing.  I suspect he was working, talking to colleagues, joking with friends, filling his mixing bowl sized mug with kaf, worrying about me silently.  And it occurs to me how much he would have loved being a grandfather.  He would have had so much fun with his grandchildren.  He would have cherished them.  It saddens me that he will never know them, nor them he.

I've never told Han how I feel about this date.  I'm usually far too busy to allow myself a few minutes of wallowing in self pity, and as for remembering dates, there's a reason I programmed birthdays, holidays and anniversaries into Han's datapad.  All come with sufficient lead time. That way, he has no excuses. (To be fair, I think he has our anniversary memorized.  I think this is because we usually go to a tropical location that involves little activity outside of the dance of the ancients.)

He does know how much I miss my home planet.  It was a beautiful place, prosperous, peaceful, and with seasons that flowed into each other effortlessly.  I would have loved to have Han and I live there after we were married, close by my father, having our children there.

Coruscant is nice, although the climate is more sharply demarcated.  We have long, very hot summers with lots of sunshine and winters that are short but wet, windy and icy.  There's no gradual warming in spring or cooling in autumn; Coruscant simply doesn't have those seasons. It's largely desert.  What is truly amazing is that out of that desert sprang homes, businesses, institutions of higher learning, symphonies, tavernas  and cantinas, brothels, industries, all the elements that societies create.  Moisture farmers coax every bit of water they can from the dry ground, and thus, what could   have been every bit as inhospitable as Tatooine is a thriving environment. I've heard Luke describe his life on Tatooine.  I'm grateful I was sent to live with the Viceroy and his wife, even if it meant that my three crazy aunts were in cahoots to push me to the brink of insanity.

Time in the New Republic is measured around the Battle of Yavin.  It's either BBY or ABY.  But for me, it will always be Before Alderaan and After Alderaan. 

I don't talk about it even with fellow Alderaanians.  Everyone has his or her own way of dealing with grief, and I respect that with my silence.

My reverie is interrupted by the sound of Han's chrono going off.  Time to face the day, I tell myself.  I'd love to sit and be miserable but we've got three kids to pack up, breakfast to be made, hair to be styled...

_________________________________________________

I receive word from Najia that Mon Mothma is out today.  At first I reacted by thinking I'd get some actual work done, but she handed me Mon's schedule and I blanched.  No time for self pity today.

I wonder if Mon Mothma feels as I do about this day.  She and I have an uneasy relationship.  There's no love lost between us, but our hyperactive gossip mill claims she lost someone she loved in battle. I know that she lost many friends.  I know the feeling, trust me.

I don't know what I would have done had Han been lost to the war.  Thinking about this reminds me of how close I came to losing him at Bespin, and I shudder.  If she did lose the love of her life, she most assuredly has my sympathy. 

It's probably a good thing that my day is as full as it is.  I'll go to bed later tonight, totally exhausted, and then I'll get up tomorrow and realize life goes on.

___________________________________________________________________

It's late when I get home.  I'd warned Han early on that he and Chewie were going to have to be in charge.  Han took is as he usually does, which is to say well.  One of the things I cherish about him is that he's a practical person and has a way of rising to the task at hand.  He'll grumble sometimes, but he'll do it, and do it well.

The house is eerily quiet when I enter.  "Han?" I call out.  I turn the corner and realize the dining table has two long burning tapers lit.  There are two place settings, and the smell of my favorite soup from my childhood is simmering on the stove.  I can smell fresh bread heating.  There's a bottle of Emera wine on the table.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes.  How did he know? 

"Hey sweetheart," he said, emerging from the 'fresher.  "Welcome home.  Let's have some dinner."  He takes my hand and leads me to my chair.

"Where are the kids?"

"With Chewie.  He'll give 'em back in the morning."  Han smiles at me.  "Long day, eh?"

"Since I was doing the work of two people and I'm only one, there are a lot of loose ends."

"Don't worry about it,"  he says, pulling out my chair for me.  "Work gets done when it gets done.  In the meantime, the galaxy is not likely to crumble from it."

I laugh. 

"All right, here goes.  Your favorite soup from Alderaan."  He serves it up and I inhale the fragrance of tomo-spice and catabar.  He then brings the bread to the table,  redolent of boontaspice.  And then the Emera wine.

I look up at him.  "How...did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"That it's the date Alderaan was destroyed."

He shrugged.  "Well, it was the day we met.  And Alderaan was exploding as I was coming up on it.  You're always sad on this day, which is why I didn't do it sooner, but I figured, ten years.  You lost your home ten years ago, and while it may not be the happiest thing to commemorate, but I like to think that it was one of the best days of my life."  He grins at me.  "Okay, that's stretching it some.  I did NOT enjoy the trash compactor." 

I laugh in spite of myself.  Of course that was the day I met him. 

"So, I got you something."   He hands me a reasonably sized box, and I open it up to find a vase, clear glass with t'iil flowers embedded within it. I gasp.  It's incredibly beautiful -- and old. 

"You didn't think I was just going to Nenmo's to buy guitars, did you?"  he asks, his tone playful.

"Actually, yes,"  I admitted, but I'm laughing.

"He had a case of Emera wine.  I bought that."

"I don't think we should drink it all tonight,"  I joke with him.

"And something else."  He hands me yet another box.  "Sorry about not wrapping.  Nenmo's doesn't gift wrap and, well, okay, I just don't like wrapping."

I open it up, and inside is my favorite perfume, and the container is the one I remember my mother having.  I feel my eyes tearing up.

"Thank you,"  I say to him.  I'm speechless.

"There's always good and bad mixed together."

I laugh. "If that isn't the truth."  I breathe in the perfume's ladalum fragrance, one of the most cherished on Alderaan. 

"I ordered some plants of ladalum and t'iil and allute, but Lando's handling that, so of course they're late."  I laugh.  When it comes to Lando, he likes to say he's always late but worth the wait.  And, for the most part, he keeps his word. 

I've never said a word about this to Han before, about this date.  And yet, he knew.  He gave me space to grieve. 

A part of me will always grieve for Alderaan.  But now I have something to celebrate on this day.

The day I met Han Solo. 

Actions Speak Louder Than Words: Story Submission by StatsGrandma

HOLD ME NOW

Leia is now three months pregnant with Anakin.  Told from Han's POV.

It's been one of those days with the kids.  I got home yesterday after two weeks of schlepping medical equipment all over the damn galaxy.  We'd have been home 2 days sooner save for that the Falcon needed some new pump housings; we had overheating.  I use standard parts whenever I can, but even standards can be out of stock, and that aggravated me.  Chewie wasn't exactly pleased himself.  We did as quick and dirty a job as possible, finished the merchandise drops, and we'll clean it up once we've been on the ground a few days.

The kids are happy to see me, but they're toddlers, and toddlers are people, too, so they have their off days. They're teething, and I think Leia was actually grateful to get to the office this morning. Both are whining and gnawing on anything that doesn't move and some things that do.  It's all I can do to keep up on the ice rings we keep in the freezer cold enough for them.  I feed them the foods they like, and they throw even more of it on the floor and each other than usual, which is saying a lot.

It's not helping that I'm tired.  Once we're done with deliveries, Chewie and I hightail it home to Coruscant. We take turns napping so that we don't waste time.  Needless to say, we don't sleep much. 

I have a bottle of single malt Corellian whiskey in the cupboard.  I've been saving it for a special occasion.  I'm starting to think rubbing some on the twins' gums is a special occasion.

Adding to my exhaustion is that I feel like crap.  My stomach's been on edge the last few days.  This happens in transit sometimes; you eat in a hurry and you tend to eat whatever's easy. Usually once I'm home I'm ravenous, but I haven't felt like eating all day.  All I really want to do is lie down and fall asleep until the nausea and pain subside.

My comm goes off.  It's Leia.

"How're the devil children?" she asks.  She's been in a much better mood since she passed the three month mark.  Her voice has a sadistically amusing tone.

"Demonic." 

"Try some whiskey on their gums."

"You've used my Corellian whiskey?"

She laughs.  "I wouldn't take that from you.  I have some Cadezian whiskey that was a gift that I've been using."

I have to laugh. "Cadezian whiskey is not a gift."  That stuff is beyond rank.  It's the sort of booze you drink only to get drunk, and fast. But apparently it works on teething toddlers.

She smiles at me.  "I have one more meeting and then I'm leaving.  Are you all right, flyboy?  You're not looking so hot."  Her expression's become serious.

"I just need a nap." 

"I wanted to keep this meeting short, anyway.  Hang in there, hotshot.  Reinforcements are headed your way."  She signs off. 

I find the open bottle of Cadezian whiskey.  I take a flimsi, pour some whiskey on it, gagging at the smell.  It smells even worse than I remember it.  I apply it first to Jaina and then Jacen.  They calm down, and I gently put them to bed.  They fuss a little but in a few minutes, they're (finally) asleep.

I'm on my way to the bedroom when I suddenly feel my stomach lurch.  I race to the 'fresher just in time to toss up what I don't have in my stomach.  Usually, I only puke when I'm drunk, and then I feel better.  Instead, I feel worse.  I'm not a chickenshit when it comes to pain, but gods, this hurts like hell.  I'm barely able to stand up.  I think the last time I felt this bad was when we were on Bespin and I had some 'man time' with my girlfriend's father.

At least the kids are asleep.  I fall down on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position, and I can't.  I force myself to get up again and search out some antinausea meds.  Of course, since I need 'em, we're out.  I can barely make it back to bed.  I haven't felt this dizzy since I got drunk at a wedding of some boring bureaucrat that we were forced to attend.  The only good thing about it was that it was open bar all night. 

I'm gonna puke again. And I'm probably not gonna make it to the 'fresher in time. I'm dizzy as I try to stand up.

"Han!"

I didn't even hear her come in.

"Outta my way!" I try to pass her as quickly as possible but I'm too late.

"I'll clean it up,"  Leia says, helping me get up.  She lays a cool hand against me.  "You're burning up.  Let me get you in bed and I'll take care of the mess."

This is Leia.  Strong, capable, always ready to help. Don't let the fact that she's a little slip of a thing fool you.

I lie down on the bed and I feel even worse. This is getting to be worse than the electrical grid.

I hear Leia cleaning up the mess I left.  She comes back to the bedroom with a fever strip and a wash bucket in her hands.  She places the strip on my forehead.

"103.  Han, you're really sick.  I need to get you to the medcenter."

"I just need some sleep."

"You can barely stand up." 

I can hear the babies crying.  I should help Leia. 

"Stay there!"  she orders me.  Which is fine, because right now, I'm curled up in the fetal position and moving doesn't look good. I can hear her pick them up, speaking soothingly to them.  She's probably changing them as we speak; now there's a task that never ends.  I hear the patter of little feet racing about and I hear her talking, probably on her comm. 

She comes into the bedroom, bearing a cold water soaked flannel and places it on my forehead. The shock of the cold makes me bury myself deeper into a crunched up position. "Chewie's on his way over."  Chewie lives downstairs, so it's not as if he has far to go.

"Good, he'll help you out." These two can be a handful.  Soon, there'll be three of em.  What was I thinking, that this was going to get easier.

"We're going to the medcenter,"  Leia informs me.

"I think I just need to sleep it off." 

I can hear the intercom give off its eight bell chime.  I modified it so that it wouldn 't sound like a siren.  Leia and I get tense at sirens.

She stands over me.  "It's that, or I call 999."  999 is the galactic standard for emergency assistance. 

Leia goes to let Chewie in. I can't hear what she's saying to him.  But I do hear the kids laughing.  They've got Chewie wrapped around their little fingers.

Leia and Chewie come to the bedroom, Chewie holding both kids.

{Call 999} He says to Leia.

"This is not necessary!"  I don't want to go to the medcenter.  I pride myself on not being afraid of much, but medcenters are up there.  "Leia, please!"

She ignores me and calls it in. Chewie takes the kids into the other room. 

I'm lying there and suddenly, it feels as if something exploded, and I'm wracked with the worst pain I've ever felt.  And having been tortured a few times, I know from where I speak. "Leia,"  I gasp. 

"They'll be here soon," she says softly, brushing my now soaking wet hair off my face with her fingers.

She knows I'm terrified, and she knows that her touch brings me comfort.  She doesn't have to say a word. 

I don't know if it was one minute or half an eternity till the emergency responders arrive, but I'm carried away in a litter, Leia following me close by. 

I barely remember getting to the medcenter, but suddenly there's a burst of people, droids and activity all around me.  I ask for my wife.  I'm told she's waiting outside till they get me ready for surgery.  I'm being stuck everywhere with pointy things.  At least the pain's a little better; they must be feeding me something good.

Okay, I admit it.  I'm terrified.  I was sort of planning to keep all of my internal organs till I didn't need them anymore. 

I'm trying to ask what the hell's wrong with me. 

A droid with a sweet voice (well, for a droid) finally informs me I've got peritonitis and will have to have surgery and a bacta treatment.

Good times, I mutter to myself.  Just what I had planned. And here I was going to watch the smashball playoffs tonight, have a few beers, read 'The Little Lost Bantha Cub' for the nth to the i time, tuck the kids in.  Silly me, thinking about what I said to Leia about nothing in our lives ever going according to plan. I'll keep my mouth shut next time.

"Can I see my wife now?" I demand. 

"Yes, you may,"  a human male says to me.  "I'll get her."

I'm pushed out of whatever area I've been in and into a cold, gleaming white hallway.

"Hey flyboy."  She leans over and smiles at me.  "Rumor has it you're going to survive." 

"Good, because I need to read 'The Little Lost Bantha Cub' to the kids a million more times."

That makes her laugh.  I love it when she laughs. 

"And who'd remember to foodshop?"  I ask her, and she laughs again.

"That reminds me, the pantry's a bit low,"  she says, taking my hand in hers.  "Get well soon, because we're going to starve if you don't." 

We both laugh. 

"Hold me," I whisper to her. "Just hold me now."

She does so, not losing her smile. 

"Kiss your wife, it's time to go,"  one of the droids tells me. 

"As if I needed an excuse,"  I mutter.

"See you on the other side, flyboy."  She turns to the droid.  "Take good care of him.  He's the only one in the family who can cook." 

I love that woman.