Joint Story: The Sequel - Chapter 24

Zyra and I found this photo on our last Star Wars image search 

and we both found it completely hilarious.

On another note:  I've debated on how to handle this chapter and had some pretty good (and devious ideas) but I went with as I had written it a few weeks ago.  Hope you guys enjoy.)

Joint Story:  The Sequel - Chapter 24

There was so many things Leia wanted to say.  Watching that holo of their wedding had...affected her.  She longed to be the person she had seen on that film.  Like a young girl wishing to emulate a famous actress in an award-winning play, it was a dream to strive for but something that felt grossly unattainable.  Could she ever kiss Han like that?  Would he ever say those kinds of words to her while in a sober mind?  She may never know.  She had ruined it.  Everything she had said the night before was coming back to haunt her, every word a hard slap in the face from the emptiness of their meaning to the devastating affect they had had on Han.  He was gone again.  Unable to locate him after he left the class, she had returned to the Falcon alone.


She went through the routine of the evening by herself, every second, every movement spent in anticipation of his arrival. By the time she had showered and slipped on her sleeping clothes, she had given up any hope of seeing him.  She climbed into her - his - bunk.  Excitement, guilt and anxiety was slowly turning into hurt, anger and apathy.  This was why she hadn't wanted to succumb to him, this-

Her vicious thoughts were cut off by the sound of the Falcon's ramp lowering followed by the sound of quiet footfalls pacing across the interior of the ship.  Her heart had leaped into her throat and she held her breath as she tried to get some bearings as to where he might be.  She heard the clinking of glasses and the banging of cabinet doors. He was in the galley.  What to do now, she wondered.  Her anger, the hurt of the loneliness he had left her in had vanished, like some fair-weathered friend in a dense storm.  The only thing left was guilt, her regret and it clung to her in silent resignation willing her to finally give in to that what she had been hopelessly fighting all this time.

She climbed out of bed and headed toward the galley, not even bothering with a robe.  When she came around the corner she spotted him.  He stood in profile to her, he was facing the cabinet and sipping on his drink.  He did not turn to greet her, though it was obvious that he knew she was there.  He smelled like a cantina and something flashed through her as she imagined what he might've been doing while she had sat here and stewed waiting for him.  But it was not anger, it was a possessive jealousy that spurred her on even more.  She wanted to be the one that he ran to when he ran away from all else.  She no longer wanted to be his pain, to provide it like spoiled food to a starving man knowing that he was helpless to refuse it.  She took one more step so that she was in the galley.   

"Han, I'm sorry."

He didn't turned to look at her, he didn't even acknowledge her at all as he poured more whiskey into his glass.

She continued, "I'm sorry for what I said last night.  I'm sorry for whatever torture I've put you through, I didn't mean to.  Honestly, I don't know who that person was in that holorecording.  I wish I could meet her.  I can see why you...loved her.  But that isn't me.  That isn't the me that fate has allowed."  She paused, then added, "I think it's the me that could've been, if everything..." Had turned out differently, she said to herself.

He didn't say anything.  His gaze remained trained on his glass of whiskey on the counter.  Hedid not drink from it, opting to stare at the amber fluid and perhaps get his inebriation vicariously through quiet study.  She got the feeling that he had given up on her and something deep within her, low down at the floor of her belly twisted at the thought.  Why had she been pushing this man away, he that was the only one to bring that part of her forth?  That girl in the holo all full of life, energy and happiness.  That girl that didn't even have the right to exist anymore, that part of her that Leia had sequestered away in the corner of her being like a disobedient child.  It had not felt right to feel such joy, except...

"Han."  Her voice was a desperate whisper, it reached out to him just the same as if she had physically grabbed for him.  He showed no reaction, not even a flinch and the implications of that demonstration of willpower tore through her like a blaster bolt. "Han, can't we go back?  Can we erase what I said last night?  I don't think I meant it.  I mean, I know now that I was lying to myself.  Please."  She wanted him to turn to her, to take her in his arms and do what he pleased with her - with his hands, his lips with every fiber of his being.  But his only response was to take a sip of his drink. 

Whether he was tired, or angry or just plain in the mood to toy with her, she could tell that he was content on making her work for it - for him.  Perhaps, at this juncture, that was his right. She swallowed.  Leia Organa had never wanted to work so hard for something in her entire life.  But for all her training, for all her natural inclinations to do with ease that which others held as impossible, this was something she did not feel so sure about.  This was an occupation she had not spent any time considering or studying.  The art of seduction.  Perhaps that's why it took a drug and a drunken night for her to get Han Solo into her bed.  Surely anything else that she had wanted so badly would've been conquered by now.  But not him.  He was the one thing that had not come easily to her, would not come easily for her.  And for all of his complaints and claims that he sat waiting as some jilted lover on the banks of of a river of rebuff and denial, he seemed just as unsure of the delicate path forward as she was.

His hand moved upward for him to take another drink and she grabbed his wrist, stopping him.  He finally (finally!) turned to look upon her.  His eyes were calm, serene, accepting, as someone who has been promised over and over some rich reward yet has come to accept that reward would never come.  She took the glass from his hand and placed it on the counter and took a step toward him so that one breath closer and she would be in his arms.  Drink me, taste me is what she tried to convey as she positioned herself between him and the whiskey.  His arms did not encircle her but a hint of curiosity - and perhaps hope - brushed across his features.  She concentrated on that emotion, that flicker of something that contradicted his solemn facade.

She ran an unsure hand up his chest, settled a moment on his neck, stroking the soft flesh there before she ended up cupping his cheek.  The gesture felt right, gentle and loving with a hint of reverence, reverence toward something that she held a deep desire to cherish and to own.  He closed his eyes and brought his hand up to cover hers.  Twisting his face he planted his lips on the palm of her hand and kissed it.  The innocent gesture sent an electric thrill winding down her core and ending up with a warm flare in the center of her body.  She grabbed his face with both hands, while in her mind's eye she saw herself do similar in the holo and she closed her eyes and watched it play out once again.  Then, in perfect imitation, all gentleness gone from her touch, she brought his mouth down to meet hers violently releasing every pent up sliver of passion that she had worked for so long to avoid.

His reaction was immediate as if they had choreographed the move years ago.  She was in his arms, the length of their bodies pressing tightly against each other.  She could feel every vein pulsing beneath his skin, his need pressed against her belly, his mouth invading her with desire and pleasure and overwhelming her senses to the point of collapse.  Surprised by the intensity of it, of her actions and his reactions, she drew back.  He misread her, she could tell by the look on his face, a look she swore she would never be the cause of again.  "No," she said, placing her hands on the sides of his face.  "I just...need a breath."

His face relaxed, his lips pressed together tightly as he looked down at her.  "I love you, Leia," he said. 

They were his first words to her that evening and the only words that she wanted so desperately to hear.  But he had said them as one states an ultimatum.  He said them as if drawing a line in the sand between the past and wherever they were to move forward.  She had never seen him so serious.  She had never been more frightened in her entire life.  For him it was a line in the sand, for her it was jumping into some unknown chasm that promised everything yet could be nothing at all.  Then, in one quiet moment, like that little girl she remembered on vacation in the mountains of Aldera as she followed her father off a high-dive cliff, she closed her eyes, held her breath...and jumped.

"I love you, too," she replied as her eyes opened.  Her hands were still on the sides of his face and he took each one in turn and kissed her open palms.  His smile was so innocent, so radiant that she thought she could see the reflection of it on his face, doubling its effect.  She smiled back and that was all that he had needed, the only signal of which he was waiting to proceed.

He drew her up against him once more, earnestly and possessively.  The counter of the small galley was at her back and as their kiss deepened he picked her up and sat her on the counter, settling between her knees as he knocked the whiskey out of the way.  From this new vantage point she was eye level with him and she doubled her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his.  He groaned, the tortured groan of which she had never heard the likes of before but somehow inherently knew its meaning.  The ache inside of her blossomed in response as he ran his hands up the sides of her thighs.

His hands continued up and under her night shorts and panties sliding behind her to cup the cold, soft flesh there and urging her forward, thrusting himself against her in demonstration of his need, his intent, his only desire.  She grunted in response, her thigh muscles like liquid compliantly spreading to accommodate his form.  His mouth left her lips, allowing the sounds of her desire to escape freely as he assaulted her neck and his hands moved to ghost up beneath her shirt and find her breasts.  She clutched him, clutched his head to her breasts and moaned.  He pulled back, picked her up, her legs wrapping around his torso as they kissed fiercely like the young lovers they now were and he carried her, very deliberately, to the Captain's Quarters.  He set her on the bed so that she was standing on the mattress before him.  Once again, more slowly this time, tortuously slow, he assaulted her breasts now at his eye level, while somewhere in the back of her mind she felt her sleep shorts gliding down her hips until she was stepping out of them, doing whatever it was that was necessary for him to do more.  He moved down her belly and below with his mouth, pressing his moist lips against the thin fabric of her panties.  He remained there, the heat of his breath sending a hot thrill of pleasure up her body and rushing through her brain like a cool breeze.  She ran her fingers through his hair, absently thinking that it would hurt if she fell from here as her knees wobbled unsteadily beneath her. 

"Han," she said breathlessly.

He worked his way back up her body, his lips blazing a trail that his fingers eagerly followed.  "Yes," he whispered back as he kissed and sucked at her neck.

She tilted her head, granting him full access to that part of her body that he wanted to conquer now.  She moved her legs, holding on to him as she stepped down off of the bed.  "I want-"  She started, now looking up at him.  She wanted to undress him, pleasure him, and own him as he was doing to her.  But she had no idea where to begin.  She was not nervous, merely overwhelmed.  It was like looking at the control panel of a starship for the very first time and not knowing which button or lever to manipulate first.

Han helped her decide by wordlessly removing his shirt.  She watched as her hands ran up the length of his torso, fanning out as they reached his chest.  Han sucked in a ragged breath in reaction to her innocent touch.  She was really doing this, it was still an incredible reality that she found hard to accept.  When she heard the clasp of his trousers click open and the distinct sound of a zipper traveling southward, she decided it was all very real indeed.  Her hands had made their way to his neck and she drew him down for another searing kiss.  When they parted his posture straightened and he ran his thumb over her swollen lower lip.

His trousers were still open, hanging on his hips.  He held her gaze as she took her hands and slid them down his body, taking the loose fabric along with them.  When she straightened back up, he stepped out of the puddle of material beneath him and she realized vaguely what they were about to do, what was about to happen.  Of course she had known where this course was taking them, physically, but only now did she think of it as something else.  She had never done this before, she would be giving him that.  And without having done it before, it was a blind gift, a blank check.  What if it was for more than she could cover - emotionally?  What would this mean when they returned to the Alliance?  Would they be a couple?

"Hey, you still with me?"  He asked, looking down at her.  In his face she could tell that he had sensed the change in her mood. 

"Yes, I...I don't know," she answered honestly.

"Do you want to stop?"

Did she?  No matter the consequences, no matter what the future held, she knew with certainty that she did not.  She shook her head.  "No," she said confidently.

He hesitated no further as he went about undressing her and what he did with his hands - his mouth - she had never thought possible to share such a thing with another.  It was right that she had fought this, she decided, that she had at least approached it with some cautious trepidation,  for it was more than an act of a man and a woman succumbing to the very basest of desires, it was opening herself up to another in a way that made the embarrassment of her mere naked body a silly, schoolgirl concern.  This was more than the exposure of naked flesh, so much more.  Her body was his, he laid claim to it in every way that he desired, bringing forth a pleasure that she had never imagined possible, leaving her with wanting only one thing in the entire universe - more. 

He climbed back up her body as her muscles quivered with the aftershocks of what he had just done.  She bent her knees and held him cradled against her as he gently kissed her mouth.  This was the moment that she would give herself to him in the most intimate way possible.  She could feel him ready and waiting pressing against her as he kissed her.  Never before had she felt so vulnerable yet so safe in all of her life.  He slid his hand down between them and glided himself against her, teasing at her entrance.  Her hips pushed up against him, her body aching for some fulfillment that she mentally held some vague notion of but couldn't quite understand.  How could she want something with such certainty, such clarity of thought and desire, when it was something she had never experienced before?  It was if her entire insides ached to be pressed outward by his fulfillment of her. 

And then he was there, pressing himself into her slowly, in answer to her unspoken need and the pain she felt was reflected on his features as he pulled back to look at her.  He dropped his head down to rest in the crook of her neck and he groaned against her skin as he moved to fully enter her.  Her fingernails wrenched against the soft skin of his back as she fought through the exquisite agony that slowly dissipated into a nebulous bud of promised pleasure.  His hips moved against her as the slick skin between them aided the motion's ease.

She breathed out in wordless sounds of surprise, enjoyment and earnest encouragement, her own hips moving in time with the rhythm and pace that he was setting.  She felt something twisting and growing inside of her, some pressured buildup of release that had her begging him not to stop.  He groaned in response to her pleas, driving himself deeper inside of her, loosing all rhythm or pace and letting go to some other kind of movement that drove them both toward that same desire for release.  When she cried out at the moment she had attained it, he shuddered deeply in response.  His hips answered with several erratic thrusts and then they were still, save the ragged breaths brought on by their shared exhaustion.