August Writing Challenge Submission #3 by Knitzkampf

A Toast

By Knitzkampf

They were crashing.

We are going to die.

We're crashing we're going to die we're crashing we are going to die we are going to die. I can't believe we're crashing. We are going to die! Leia felt entangled in the crash webbing surrounding her in the navigator's seat. The force of the plantet's gravity pulled her with unceasing relentlessness in her seat. She clenched her teeth, struggling to open her eyes. Please don't let me die.

The uselessness of the moment gripped her as forcefully as the gravity. It didn't matter what the mission was anymore; it was a lost cause. The ship they were flying in was also a lost cause. Piece of crap, Han Solo had protested before they left. Obnoxiously, vociferously, he had argued to take the Falcon, but had been overruled. She'd jumped at the chance to leave Hoth, even just for a couple of days; to feel the warmth of a sun's light, to see green. She'd jumped, and now she was going to die. I don't want to die. Who knew? Some on Echo Base had been jealous of her trip. Now they would be stunned, shocked, lucky to be freezing their asses off in the snow. She and Han and Chewie would be dead.

It broke her heart. I don't want to die.

While they crashed her screams and heart beat thundered in her ears. I'm terrified. Han, it's OK, give it up. We're dead. I'm terrified. Don't let me die alone. Hold me. Please hold me.

Han and Chewie were putting up a hell of a fight. They were caught in an ion storm in a piece of crap. Leia had never realized how interminable a crash death was. She'd always thought it all must happen rather suddenly; hopefully painlessly. But the screaming of the ship, the blaring of the alarms, the heat of the cockpit, her terror – it all went on and on; forever, and during it all her brain shouted more and more insistently don't let me die!

I don't want to die, she prayed continuously.

"Come on, come on, come on." Han had stopped threatening the ship. Instead of muttering how he would hack it to pieces and melt it down, he was now making deals with it. Move for me, that's it.

Orange flames escorted their descent. Fire. We're in atmosphere. Going to be soon now.

Leia knew they were going to die. Keep your eyes open, she told herself. See your last. Think your last. Make it count.

She was going to blow up, just like Alderaan had. She was in a ship about to hit a planet. She forgot the name; it got sucked out of her with the air. Alderaan was a planet hit by a ship but it was all the same. She thought of her father, who must have stood helplessly watching until impact, and she could see Han, desperately fighting his own.

"Yes!" Han exulted. "Thrusters," he ordered Chewie. "If we have 'em."

Apparently they did, for the Wookiee complied, though Leia had no idea if Han meant engage or disengage.

We're upside down, Leia noted. Crashing upside down. Please don't let me die like this. She was sorry to have regrets. She would never see Luke become a Jedi, never know the outcome of the war, never finish growing old, never settle Han once and for all.

A whooshing, the window engulfed in orange, her vision upside down, Han slammed back in his seat. A freedom, a lightnessness. Such noise. Howling and shrieking from outside, blaring and piercing from in. A ripping, tearing; the vessel gouging great chunks of earth, hurtling without control up, then down over the surface. Ripping, shredding; the vessel disintegrating, pieces of metal falling to the side, and all the while Leia screamed constantly, hunched in her seat, her hands over her head.

They seemed to be slowing. Alarms still blared. Leia stopped her screams, but she remained frozen in place.

Han used her back to help vault himself out of the cockpit. His hand's pressure was different than the crushing weight of the gravity before they entered atmosphere. He only used her for leverage, but oddly, it was comforting. She always liked it when he touched for another purpose other than the chance to touch her. He was best when he wasn't playing games, and he certainly wasn't playing right now.

Together. We'll die together. It was a nice thought. If there was to be an end to them, they might as well surrender the fight and die together.

She remained hunched over, panting, listening. Is this it? Have I died? I think – I'm alive.

She had no idea how long she remained in the navigator's seat. She'd been there when they lifted off, and she was still there, In the minutes after crash, just trying to understand that seeing smoke and smelling melted plastic and hearing various creaks and groans as the vessel settled meant that she was alive. But Han and Chewie had shaken off not just the webbing but the whole crash and were already darting about, assessing, repairing, collaborating.

"Alright," Han announced, sauntering back to the cockpit.

Her stunned eyes met his and all she could think was he was alive too, and he really didn't look all that different from when she had seen him at breakfast. Then he had been sleepy and efficient. Locks of his hair were starting to take their haphazard places after his shower, and his eyes were green and businesslike.

Just the way he sat with a cup of kaf- the way his body held the seat, the way his fingers laced over the mug's handle, the way his eyes watched her with that playful glint - he had a latent power that was many things to her. It was friendship and virility; partner and rival; a push and pull that was simultaneously attractive and unnerving.

But of course he had changed drastically, because she had too. She had survived the most amazing crash landing the galaxy had ever witnessed, she was sure of it. He looked quite awake now. Somehow in her mind she described it as delighted, but in her state of shock she knew that couldn't be right. Certainly his eyes were bright with adrenalin. The open neck of his shirt revealed an odd pattern of bruises and his hair was sticky and spiked with some substance that changed its color.

"I've got good news and bad news," he said, finishing his announcement. He stood in the cockpit doorway, one arm behind his back, a sly play on his lips and the cockpit fell away, dropped; receded into a far away distance while he loomed in front of her, holding everything together.

She continued to stare wordlessly at him. He was always so wrong, that's what kept her from speaking. He should not look delighted, the cockpit should not be standing around him, he should not be making a game of their survival.

"The good news," he continued, nonplussed by her mute stare, "is there's a settlement not far off. Chewie's going to go and make contact." Han gestured out the window but she was not yet ready to take her eyes off him. "It's forest and farmland. He reckons he can make better time than us, through the trees. He thinks two days. Then we have to wait to get picked up."

He waited if she had something to say, raising his brows expectantly. "Planet's pretty much unaltered, considering it's in the heart of Imperial space," he went on conversationally. "I bet the Imps don't wanna mess with that ionic atmosphere. We won't have to worry about them checking on us."

Leia finally found her voice. "Are we going to blow up?"

He smiled, kneeling by her seat and unbuckling her crash webbing. "No. You can come out of there now, you know."

He helped her stand. Her legs were shaking. They had gripped her seat with such desperation that she barely had strength to stand.

"You get jolted around some, even with webbing," Han explained. "You should walk around some."

"What's the bad news?" Leia prompted him.

He grinned, used to her shaking him off. "The bad news is, this is all we have to drink."

The arm he was hiding behind his back appeared, holding a bottle of Chandrillan wine. Leia had sampled it before. It was strong stuff, bracing and delicious.

"Just one bottle?" she asked.

"No, there's a case."

It was incongruous that a case of wine happened to be stowed with their mission gear. No doubt Han Solo was smuggling again.

"Give me that," she ordered.

His brows up again, he offered it to her. She unscrewed the cap and drank deeply.

Another look was crossing his face, one she'd seen before when she did something he didn't expect. He looked entertained, uncertain, fascinated.

She knew she had that effect on him. Deep inside, it caused a well of pride, that she, Senator Princess Leia of Alderaan, reminded vagabond Han Solo that he hadn't seen everything.

She smacked her lips. "That's not bad news, that this is all there is to drink."

"Well, it's all we have to eat, too."

It took her a moment to digest this information. "What?" she asked. Already, combined with the giddiness of her survival, she felt the effects of the wine. She saw him clearly, in stark outline, but the background fuzzed and blurred. His voice was warm like the wine going down her throat, and behind that were the creaks of the vessel.

"There's no food," he added helpfully.

"But, we sto-. What hap -" she sputtered to object.

"All covered in smother," he said.

"Oh." She nodded in resignation. Smother was a flame retardant and extinguisher. That's what was in his hair, she realized. At least that part of the piece of crap had worked. For what it was worth. Their food supplies were ruined. Smother was poisonous to ingest, a harsh irritant on the skin.

Suddenly, her mind latched on emergency procedures. "Is the ship secure? Are either of you injured? What about shelter, supplies? And -"

"Put down the manual, Your Flightiness," Han said. "Chewie and I already salvaged what we could. We've got a makeshift shelter. Just needs putting together."

She blinked. She couldn't deny that he had some sort of effect on her, either. If she wasn't careful, he reached a part of her she rarely acknowledged. It was nudging her now, the part that just wanted to feel; to live in the moment. I survived a crash. I'm alive! She held the bottle up. "Should I use this to wash the smother out of your hair?"

He smiled. "No, but I'll have a drink."

"You need to wash," she told him when he had finished. She held out her hand and took another swig when he handed it to her.

He nodded, prompted to scrub at his hair. He wiped his hands on his pants. "Chewie already did. There's water just a bit to the south."

"He's already gone?" Leia was surprised at their efficiency. She shook her head, pressing the bottle into his belly until he took it. He lifted it to his lips and took a drink. "Cheers," he said.

She was seeing him in a new light. Maybe it was how she first met him, she thought, in the Falcon, with a Wookiee and a high price. He came wrapped in a package of defenses and braggadocio but the crash had wiped his slate clean. She couldn't fault him for this crash and his pure determination to win was similar to her own approach to life.

"Come on out for a walk," he encouraged. "Mission be damned; we're still off Hoth."

"Bring lunch," she instructed.

"It's already cooling in the water," he laughed.

They had to jump out of a breached hull and Leia got smother all over her pants. It started to itch fairly quickly. But it felt good to itch. Better than the alternative, being dead. I'm alive. I'm alive, and I'm walking on green farmland and in the distance there are mountains and the sun is warming me inside and out and life is a beautiful thing.

Leia turned around, stumbling a little from the tall grass and wine. Behind them the crashed vessel lay like a crumpled, crushed pile of debris. "How did we survive that?" she marveled.

"I know how to crash," Han said simply.

She snorted, moving her eyes from the wreckage to Han's. He wasn't bragging. "Seriously," she said. "I have this image like we were upside down."

"We were," he told her. "I figured the winds would flip us, and crashing belly up is a whole lot worse than right side up, so I put her on her back and hoped the winds flipped us they way I wanted 'em to."

They marched over the high field of grain. Leia pumped her knees, and she threw her shoulders back, exhilarated by the sunshine. She took the bottle from Han and threw the cap into the field, where it disappeared in the tall grass. "I was so sure we were going to die," she said, putting her lips over the bottle.

The planet was lush, fertile, brimming with life.

He had a turn with the bottle. "I was hoping we weren't."

"And I'm so glad to be alive. Yes, the mission is failed, but you know what? We'll get another chance, right?" Sweat trickled down her temple and everything seemed so simple, so clear.

"Right," he nodded emphatically. "Things could be worse."

"Things could be much worse. It could be raining, or we could be arrested, or eaten by some wild animal..."

"Or dead."

"Or dead," she agreed, giggling. Already too much wine.

Han shook the bottle. "Here," he held it out to her after taking several swallows. "Finish this."

When she had drained the bottle's contents it took several tries to find Han's eyes. "We should celebrate," she declared.

"Let's," Han agreed. "Can you imagine them, back on Hoth, in their private office," he added, painting an image of High Command. "All worried about their mission and their piece of crap ship and personnel MIA" He laughed. "And we're going swimming." They both laughed. The water sparkled in the sunlight. There was a gurgle, bubbles frothing to the surface.

"It's a spring," Han said. "That'll clean the smother up fast. I thought we'd poison some domesticated animals that use this for their drinking hole."

He sat down to pull off his boots, and Leia stretched out on the lush grass above the embankment, still holding onto the empty bottle, her arms and legs spread out so that no part of her was hidden from the sunshine. She found she was smiling in contentment. She opened her eyes, wary of the sun's glare, but it was behind her and above her stretched the sky, a pristine blue, and some trees, thick with foliage and some kind of moss. Inside the canopy of the tree she detected movement; life. Sounds of twittering and leaves rustling, but she couldn't see any particular animal.

Water slapped, and Leia rose up on her elbows to see why. Han was already wading in, stripped to his briefs. He was different than her in this respect too. He was never physically shy; it was just a body and everyone had one. But his lines were long and lean and defined, and a part of him had to know that people enjoyed looking at him.

She watched him splash water over his shoulders, saw him react to the water's temperature with a shiver. He's alive, too. Full of life.

He disappeared under the water and she took the opportunity to slip out of her leggings and tunic. She put her toes into the water, rinsed the smother off her calves and shins. The spring was crystal clear and deep; she could see her toes wiggling up at her and she could see Han under the surface, rubbing at his hair like she would in a shower, legs kicking in a dance to keep him underwater.

She smiled and waded ankle deep to the wine. Han had corkscrewed the bottles into the spring's bottom. Several bottles sat nestled in a sand embrace. She grabbed two and started for him. Water lapped around her thighs, cool against her warmth. Her movement caused it to bounce around her legs, teasing her underwear with wetness. She shivered.

Only his head was atop the water but he was swimming smoothly, slowly stroking his way to her. She could see his eyes gleam and that same expression of uncertainty and awe was evident as he watched her. It made her smirk and it made her heart race.

Blood coursed through her ears, loud and insistent. You're alive, it pulsed. Celebrate life.

Han stopped, preferring she finish wading to him so he could watch her seductive movements. She held his eye and decided to enjoy more of the wine. She threw her head back, exposing her white throat and drank in show for him. It was hard to recap it, ruining the moment, but she got it done and shook off the sudden warmth of the sun on her forehead, drinking in his gaze.

Suddenly she was underwater. It took her by surprise, and she wasn't prepared with a breath. The bottles of wine prevented her from treading her way back up to the surface.

Han's arm scooped her up under the ribcage and suddenly she was atop of the water again, his face so close she could see more than the shadow of stubble on his cheeks and the serious look in his eyes.

"Drop off," he mentioned casually. He took a bottle from her and moved her against him so that she understood he was offering himself as a ledge. She thought to demand he bring her to shallower water but there was something about the water, and his skin, and how silken the two became, how warm the water grew around him, how soft it was and how firm he was.

Water streamed from her mouth, air moved through her chest and into her lungs. I'm alive.

Han unscrewed the bottle with his thumb and finger of one hand. The cap was in his palm, and getting a tight hold around her he reared both their bodies out of the water to hurl it towards the shore. Wine splashed out of the bottle. She turned her head, her hands holding on to his biceps, and saw that his throw was a few meters short. She laughed.

The little cap floated merrily on the surface.

"Are you going to get it?" she asked him, praying he would say no.

"No," he said. "'We're going to wind up drinking the whole thing anyway." He swung the bottle up to his lips and drank several swallows. Leia watched his throat move.

"Because we're celebrating," she reminded him, drinking from her own bottle. Wine surged down her throat, detouring for her windpipe. She coughed.

He chuckled, patting her back lightly. "There, there, Princess." His feet moved along the water's bottom, half-walking them towards the center of the spring. She was balanced against his thighs, and they moved her up and down as his feet slid along the bottom.

Oh, my she thought again and took another hearty swig. "Shell-". She frowned, gathering her tongue and lips to try again.

"Did you find a shell?" he asked politely.

"No, I meant shelabrate." She laughed. "Celebrate. Are you tipsy?" she asked. "Cause I am," she said, without waiting for his answer. "I don't want to drown, 'cause I just came to life."

The water made a gentle lapping noise against their bodies. There was song coming from wildlife; she knew something small was in the trees but couldn't see it. The ship was behind them, Chewie had a day's journey ahead, and it was just she and Han, half naked in a pond.

"A toast," Leia declared.

"Alright," he agreed. He raised his bottle. "What to?"

"To Life."

"To Life," he answered. They clinked their bottles. "And being alive." They drank.

"Yes," Leia said, smacking her lips again. "I feel so alive. I feel everything. Everything. Do you?"

"Mm," he slurred. "The wine, and the sun..."

"And the water, and the little singing creature in the tree..."

"And you."

"And you." Leia closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She could still sense the sunshine under her lids. Her head buzzed with the insects flying around the grass. She hadn't noticed them before. She was high on wine, high on life. "I admit, I like the feel of you."

His mouth twitched a smile. "We ought to crash more."

"We're crashing right now."

"Nothing we can do to stop it," he said in a sensuous murmur, his eyes on her lips.

They were venturing into new territory. Or was it their crash landing? "Han Solo," she announced, sitting straighter in his lap and making sure he was looking at her. "I want to cel- celebrate life. I want nothing more than to shout my life to the sky."

"Go ahead," he encouraged.

"I'm alive!" she shouted, cocking her head for an echo that didn't come.

Several creatures left the tree. "We're alive!" they shouted together.

"Do you think Chewie can hear us?" Han smiled, using his tongue to catch some wine that spilled down his chin.

"When we get picked up," she said, curling a lock of his hair around her finger, "we'll go back to being alive."

"Wait, what are we now? I thought we were alive."

"We are Life Itself," she asserted. He nodded in affirmation and touched his bottle to hers again.

"But, when we go back," Leia said after she had swallowed, "there'll be meetings, and reports, and you'll be smuggling, and you'll leave, and we all might die. So, so what I want to do..." Her voice trailed off and she lay her cheek against his chest.

"You want to shelabrate," Han prodded.

"Yes," she nodded largely, blinking. "You and me, we should shelabrate. But not you and me, you undershtand? Just you and me, only this once." In her current state she was making perfect sense, but his glazed eyes made her wonder if he understood. She did not want to celebrate the push and pull of their relationship, whether he was staying or leaving, how she loved or loathed. She wanted to celebrate the moment; their lives won together.

Something returned to the tree and took up a song. Leia smiled dreamily. "Only this once, Han Solo, and then we go back to being just day to day alive, not shep -sep – spec. Spectacularly alive."

Han brought the bottle to his ear. "I hear wine talking," he said.

"It is the wine," she protested. "And the creatures, and the sun, and that piece of crap."

Han laughed. "Shall we drink to the piece of crap?"

So soft, like the water, his rough hands gentled by the soaking. Light on her ribs, tiny pressure points. She was desirous. It's the wine. Please, little singing animal. Remind me. He is so wrong. Push, pull. She was in his eyes; she could see her reflection.

His lips were parted and she knew he could see himself in her eyes. She put her fingers on his bruises. Push. "How did you get these?"

A kind of agony crossed his face and he drank again but she knew it wasn't from her touch. Or maybe it was.

"Chewie," he said finally. His heart was beating rapidly under his bruised shoulder blade. "He was holding me down in my seat."

She shook her head in appreciation for the two. "I love him," she declared, and he smiled. "Just this once, Han Solo," she reminded him. "Can you do that?"

"It might kill me," he admitted.

Pull. He was walking them again, her rear bumping on his thighs. She leaned back to hold onto him there. His hands slipped from high on her ribs to over her waist. She tugged on his leg hair, but he didn't flinch. They had more wine.

Walk, bump, walk, thump. If he doesn't touch me I'll kill him, she thought.

"I'm going to kill you," she said aloud, dreamily. She dropped her bottle suddenly and he made a move to scoop it up before water got in it.

His brows went up. "You will? How?"

"Damn you, Han Solo. Like this." She moved her hands from his thighs, making sure to drag her nails over the front of his briefs and planted them firmly over his chest, spreading her fingers over his nipples.

"Alright then, Princess," he surrendered in a whisper. "Kill me."

Their mouths met, hungry, wet, sloppy from too much wine. Their heads shifted direction, tongues licking, teeth biting. She kept her hands clasped along his jaw to hold him still and sucked the wine off his lip. Han scuttled them quickly to shallower water so he could grip her better and the bottle of wine clunked against her head.

"Wine. I've had too much wine," she sighed for breath. Push.

"Is this only the wine?" he asked.

"No. It's the water. Too much water."

He laughed, and she caught the heady bouquet of wine on his breath. He kissed her neck. "The water's nice," he hummed in her ear.

Pull. "We'll be hungry later," she gasped.

"I'm hungry now." He had more control with his feet planted firmly in the water's bottom. He let go of the two bottles, and they floated lazily nearby while his hands pressed over her breasts. He lifted her bra.

She arched her back, securing herself around him with her legs and reaching with her fingertips to grab a floating bottle. She reared her head back and drank deeply as his hands stroked her flesh, bringing her nipples taut. After she swallowed her face came forward to meet his, flushed; her mouth open, her chest heaving more in reaction to his hands than the need for air.

"There isn't much left," she said, wiggling the bottle to slosh the contents. Push.

He took it from her and craned his head back. Her fingers traced the tendons of his neck. All of him, so hard and yet so inviting. Pull.

"Little singing creature," Leia sang.

The bottle was empty. Han tossed it aside and they froze their positions, his hands back on her breasts and her pelvis tilted against his legs. They watched it bob along the surface until gradually, slowly, it began to sink. Push.

"Just this once," Leia sighed. "I'll never feel like this again."

"Until we crash again," Han said. "We're always crashing."

"We are," she agreed, putting her head to his chest. The bruises were in front of her eyes, the lovely shape of his body. "You're so wrong," Leia said.

"So are you," he said.

That surprised her. "I am? Little singing creature, am I wrong?" There was an answering trill. They laughed. "But you can fly," she told him. "You can really fly."

"Want to fly?" he asked her, starting to move again in the water.

She grasped his face again and held his eyes. So often they played, or they were hard, but right now they were open and vulnerable and wanting. "I want to fly," she answered. Pull. Pull me, Han Solo.

They moved through the water, Han walking them, the water bouncing against the embankment with the movements and coming back to gently push on them again. His mouth on her throat was gentle, tender; his hands cupping her bottom demanding and impatient.

She hopped forward on his lap, so their centers intersected. She pulled back a little, amusement on her lips. "I did something," she crowed.

"You did," he practically groaned as she caressed her fingers over his growing erection. "You're killing me." He sounded delirious. "Leia, if this is wrong you have to decide now."

"Little singing creature, decide for me." Push? Pull? She received the same answering trill. Push. "Little singing creature says to help me fly, just this once. Do you think it flies?"

"I hope it does, if it feels like this," he moaned."Something this good can't happen just once."

"Death is once," she philosophized. "This is our thanks for the crash." She kissed him with her tongue, her fingers curled over his erection, trying to burst through his briefs. She wiggled her fingers, found the opening and released him to the water. She sighed, oh gods. Just the feel of him under her hand was arousal; what she did for him and what he did to her.

He gasped too. This was right; she was sure of it. She was drunk but should be dead. There was no better way to celebrate life than for two bodies to touch each other. "Little singing creature decided my fate."

"And a lovely fate it will be, Princess," he murmured. One arm pressed over her upper back to press him to her while with the other his fingers played between her thighs. "Stay here," he directed.

He made sure to catch her eye before taking a breath and submerging himself. He climbed down with his hands along her body to slowly sink himself to the bottom. Leia waited for him to resurface. His hands slipped up her legs, squeezing her rear, and he dragged one hand from the back along her center and to her front. She squirmed all over, under the water and above. He pulled down her panties, rubbing his palm over her curls and into her folds.

"Oh, gods," she exclaimed to the singing creature while he was still underwater. "I want him. Give him to me. Just give him to me."

He popped back up, that knowing, insufferable, wrong smirk on his lips. "I wish," the wine had her utter. Live for the day, she reminded herself. Celebrate life when you can.

"You wish?" he clarified but she only sighed in answer.

She drew him into her, both exhaling in a moan of satisfaction. Push. "Princess," he whispered, his breath hot in her ears as she wrapped her legs around him.

"Captain," she answered, lifting her hips, inviting him deeper. Pull.

"Am I still wrong?" he paused, looking into her eyes. He filled her again. Push. He stopped, pausing to wriggle his hips sideways.

"So wrong," she said through clenched teeth. "So fine."

Pull. They quieted, the singing creature sang, and the water lapped around his neck, her breasts. Their movements were small, slow, deep. Push.

"I'm flying," Leia whispered. "Gods, I'm flying." She lifted herself higher, arms outstretched, her breasts slapping the water, making her laugh. Han broke their clench just enough to suckle at her nipples while his finger toyed inside her. She lay her head back on the water, moving it side to side while Han's finger wiggled and rubbed, feeling how the water massaged her neck, adding to the sensation of surrender.

Push, pull. They moved faster together. So alive. So very, very alive. She abandoned the water to clench Han tightly around his neck, sucking on his throat, grabbing at his chest.

Leia's lips moved. Oh I feel. I feel. So good. Life. Life is beautiful. "I feel it," she shouted.

Han inched out of her again, just enough to watch her face. His tongue went in her ear and she rolled her eyes back. "Push," she grabbed his hair in her fist. "Pull."

He brought her forcefully shoreward, moving her so quickly and unexpectedly that she lost her bearings. "Water, water," she exclaimed. "Feel me live, just this once."

He lay her on her back in the shallow water. It was the heat of the day and their bodies were flush with arousal. He was inside her again easily, thrusting powerfully, lost in desire. "Oh, just like that," she hollered and heard him grunt triumphantly. Water slapped all around their joined bodies, accompanying them, showing them. The gurgle of the spring never left Leia's ears, evidence of the constancy of life.

Push, pull, push pull she groaned incoherently until her voice halted in ecstasy. He took the tempo from her and now their breath heated each other, their heads moving to necks, lips, cheeks, chest. Always, Han held the rhythm, until they were exclaiming joyfully each time their bodies stopped each other. She clutched his rear, caressing, grabbing, moving her finger up and down his spine. One last powerful thrust and she arched her hips up, thrusting her own self for him. Her release was like a strangled cry; his a soft series of gasps. The singing creature took flight.

She lay on her back, half in the water. It lapped over her breasts, under her neck, the sand rough and coarse on her back. There was the sound of her breathing, and his, that was all.

She thought she might love Han. Whatever it was she felt for him she was certain he returned it. But she was sleepy now, too tired and spent to try and evaluate what she had done and why. The intensity of the moment was passing, and soon she and Han would have to set up the shelter and wait for Chewie.

One bottle still managed to float, bobbing along on its own.

The spectacular moment of cheating death wouldn't change anything. He still had to go, and she still hated it.

"Princess?" Han said delicately. She turned her head, shading her brow with the palm of her hand. "Just once, you're sure?"

She nodded.

"There's more wine," he said suggestively, hopefully.

She smiled at him. She nestled her fingers in his chest hair and swung a leg over his.

Han squeezed her other hand. "Life sucks," he said sadly.

The sun still shone. The insects were buzzing and the creatures scampered in the tree while all the while the spring gurgled, water rising out of the ground in an eternal cycle of renewal.

August Writing Challenge: Submission #2 by Knighted Rogue

August Challenge Submission

“Whiskey and Wine” by KnightedRogue

It started with an urgent message sent to the Falcon.

Han Solo may have had his less-than-ignoble days but a message tagged as “urgent” was never something any good spacer ignored. And now that he was respectable, it was almost - almost - second nature to toggle the comm array and watch the message as it came through. Maybe the message was from Chewie on Kashyyyk, warning him of something he’d heard from the Imperial warlords. Maybe it was Lando out in the Outer Rim with a lead on that upstart Trader’s Guild that was causing trouble. Maybe it was Luke out on Yavin 4 doing whatever it was Luke did on Yavin 4.

But none of those familiar faces materialized when he switched on the message. Instead he saw the features of a very disgruntled Alderaanian princess.

“Han,” she said, “I have a … situation that needs your help. Would you mind coming by my office as soon as you get this message?”

The image flickered out and Han was left confused. Leia’s office wasn’t far from where the Falcon was currently docked, maybe twenty minutes’ walk. He wasn’t thrilled about being summoned like a servant, though a few years of close personal contact with Leia made it clear to him that she hadn’t meant to sound so imperious. Leia’s royal background didn’t appear much in their daily lives anymore. Not at home, at least.

So something was up. He packed up the hydrospanners he’d been sorting and grabbed a jacket before initiating security on the Falcon and heading out.

When he opened Leia’s office door, he found her leaning back in her nerf-hide chair, staring out a large transparisteel window, a scowl on her face. A dark bottle sat on her desk, corked and unopened. He wondered what it was.

“Hey,” he said, once the door slid shut behind him.

She looked up at him, her scowl still in place. “Hi,” she said. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the desk and her head in her hands. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He cocked an eyebrow and sat down in one of three chairs on the other side of her enormous desk. He could have sworn there had only been two chairs there yesterday when he picked her up for dinner. “What’s going on?” he said.

She kept her head down. “I just had the worst meeting.” He kicked back and put his boots on her desk. She waved her hand in the air. “There are two water glasses in the cabinet. Can you get them?”

“Fantastic idea,” he said, eyeing the bottle. He grabbed the glasses, opened the bottle and quickly poured a little into each glass. The bottle had a label in a script he couldn’t read and the liquor smelled awful, but he sipped it anyway, curious. “This is … terrible.” Offensive, really. “What is it?” he asked.

Leia sipped from her glass while still keeping her forehead resting on one of her palms. “It is a traditional Hapan matrimonial wine.”

He almost spit it out.

Leia finally looked at him. “The meeting was with a delegation from Hapes. They tried to arrange a ‘merger of two royal houses’,” she said, air-quoting.

“Ah,” He set the wine down and scowled at it. “And how did that go for them?”

Leia looked at him, took another drink. Han winced in sympathy. “I told them to get the hell out of my office and leave the wine.”

He almost laughed. “Very diplomatic.” It hadn’t really occurred to him to worry about Hapan royal houses. Luke, yeah, he’d worried about Luke way back when but that had all been straightened out. Since then he’d learned to trust Leia a little more. Jealousy was a factor sometimes: she was a powerful and beautiful woman and he was away quite a bit. But jealousy was a different animal than being insecure. A little jealousy kept things interesting. “How’d they take that?” he asked.

Leia blinked at him over the rim of the glass. “Not well.”

And then she winked at him.

This time he did laugh and took another drink. He grimaced and set the glass down. The wine hadn’t improved. “I can imagine,” he said, running his finger around the rim of the glass. “Did you just cause an intergalactic incident?”

For the first time, she smiled. “Probably. You should have heard them. Lineages and bloodlines. Which is hilarious in it’s own right, but they don’t know that.”

He looked out the transparisteel window, disturbed by her words. “Huh,” he said. “I’m surprised you didn’t punch them.”

Leia sighed. “I wanted to.”

Han looked back at her. Leia was tired; she’d worked long hours today to try and clear her schedule to spend more time with him while he was still on leave. “You know what, Princess?” he asked, picking up his glass again and tossing back the awful wine like a shot. “I think we should celebrate this little event here.”

She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head. “How so?”

He poured more wine into both their glasses, then lifted his up in a toast. “To your incredibly terrible romantic decisions.”

She laughed loudly and clinked her glass against his.    

After the initial bottle of (really just wretched) wine, Leia surprised him by removing a bottle of Whyren’s Reserve from the hidden drawer in her desk. When he asked her why she just happened to be storing his favorite whiskey in her office, she smiled and informed him that she’d been saving it to smuggle into his flight bag when he deployed again. A proper going-away gift, she said.

This woman.

An hour later Han was feeling nicely buzzed, the smooth taste of the best Corellian whiskey credits could buy easily overpowering the Hapan wine. There was a metaphor in that somewhere, Han was sure of it. Leia was now sitting on top of her desk, facing him cross-legged. She looked so casual, so young. It made him a little desperate.

“I’m pretty sure I’m drunk,” she declared, and tossed back another shot of whiskey.

“I think you’re right.” He leaned back in his chair. “Drunk in your office in the middle of the work day.”

She nodded with exaggerated decorum. “Shameful.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Buzzed as he might be, Leia had solidly landed herself into what he would call trashed. Very few things in the galaxy were as rare. In the back of his mind, he knew she would never get drunk in public, or while on a mission, or outside of her strictly private social circle. Though the thought of taking an uninhibited Leia to a bar and acting like a normal couple was a nice one, he also knew it wasn’t in the cards for them.

Still.

He stood up and kicked his chair back until it hit the wall behind him. Perched on top of her desk, Leia was at eye level with him: another rare occurrence. She set her glass down and leaned to the side a bit. When she straightened up, he was standing close enough to put a hand on her knee and she jumped in surprise. Her eyes widened, already dilated and full, and she pursed her lips.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, running a thumb down her neck until his palm rested on her shoulder. “I’m glad you turned down such a great offer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not a great offer. A merger.”

“Whatever,” he said.

When he kissed her, he pushed his entire torso against hers. His force tilted her head back a bit, and he felt her struggle to uncross her legs and hang them down the sides of his. Her tongue tasted like whiskey and that unidentifiable warmth of Leia: a vicious combination to him, even at his most sober. He groaned in the back of his throat and she swept a hand into his hair.

“Han,” she said as she bit his lower lip. “You need to lock the door.”

Lock the door? His lips were drifting down to the underside of her jaw, sweeping over the softness of her skin to her ear. He couldn’t fathom what she was talking about. He kissed her earlobe, then scraped his teeth lightly across it. She hummed and ran a hand down his back to pull his shirt from his pants.

Oh.

Oh hell yes.

He grinned and pressed his hands into her hips, pulling back so he could see her eyes. “I hate to say it,” he murmured, staring at her lips, “but are you sure about this?”

Leia arched an eyebrow at him. It occurred to him that though he’d seen her drunk before, he’d never seen her incapacitated. And that, he thought, might be one of the biggest reasons he loved her. She twisted her fingers through the fasteners of his shirt and loosened the top two buttons. Then, slowly and holding his gaze, she leaned over and kissed his collarbone. He made a quiet choking sound at the innocent eroticism of it all.

She broke him. Continually and constantly.

With a flash of movement, he pushed her back against the top of her desk and leaned over her. Digging his knee into the grain of the wood, he ran his palm up her leg, sneaking his hand under her robe as she bent her knee and worked on the rest of his shirt buttons. His fingers found lace and he pulled until it was a scrap of very expensive color on the floor.

He realized that this was not meant to be an exercise in restraint. This was meant to be hard and indecorous.

She’d gotten his shirt unbuttoned and was working on the fasteners to his pants. Nimble fingers triumphed and suddenly her hand was sliding against him, warm and heavy. Han quickly divested himself of the pants and then went back to work, sliding his hand up her leg.

Her hand was distracting him now that she was free to stroke him at will. She would tighten her grip unexpectedly then resume her slow, almost excruciatingly soft caress. He would have been tempted to tell her to stop teasing him if he weren’t doing the exact same thing to her. He felt her warmth slide across his fingertips, pressing into her clit and then easing off. Once he was sure she was ready and with one quick look back to her eyes, he removed his fingers and pressed inside her in one quick thrust.

The galaxy zeroed in to a pinprick. He only peripherally noticed his knees digging into the desk and his hands sliding under her shoulder blades to hold the back of her head. He disintegrated into sound and touch. Part of his brain thought too loud, her office, too loud! But that thought pulled his focus from her, and her warmth, and her hands and her hips. And that was unacceptable to him at the moment.

“Han,” she murmured.

He sped up. Their pace was frenzied and he heard the sound of a bottle breaking on the floor, but he had no context for it. The breath burned in his lungs. Leia moaned and bent her knees further, pushing her hips up to his. The angle was better now, more comfortable. He wanted to grab her hips to help her maintain the rhythm, but didn’t like the idea of Leia throwing her head back into the desk and winding up with a concussion. So he kept his hands under her head and focused on her lips and the breathy way she was whimpering his name.

He gritted his teeth. He was already feeling the tightening that signaled his release, but he also knew Leia wasn’t anywhere near her own. She had little tells that he relied on in these situations and she wasn’t giving him any of them. No fluttering eyelashes, no lip-biting, no curling toes.

So he pushed his knees into the desk, wrapped his hands around her back and lifted her up. In the process he slipped out of her and he was tempted - so tempted - to  just dive right back in. But the look on Leia’s face, the confusion in her beautiful eyes, was incentive enough to stay the course.

“Not okay,” she mumbled. It was almost a pout. He briefly wondered if he’d ever seen her pout before. She folded her legs over his thighs and scooted closer to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she pushed her face right up against his. “Come back.”

He grabbed her thighs, stepped down off the desk and dragged her to the edge. “Got a better idea,” he whispered into her ear. Then he stood up and, with just the smallest wobble, lifted her. She pulled back and smiled at him brilliantly, wrapping her legs around his waist.

His intended destination was obvious. The first time he’d come here, the office had been sterile: no ornaments or decoration to it. He’d made a point of expressing a little fantasy he’d had during long nights on innumerable Rebel bases before Hoth. It’d been a personal favorite of his: Leia naked in her office, brutally beautiful and passionate for him. He’d requested a piece of wall, just a small one, without shelving or artwork or annoying lighting fixtures. Leia, being Leia, had blushed, then smiled, and then agreed.

And so he moved her to his little empty place in her otherwise impeccably decorated office, pressing her against the wall with a barely discernable thump. Leia laughed and kissed him, craning her neck to reach his lips. Han helped her out by ducking his head; this position - while inexplicably one of her favorites - was inconvenient for foreplay. He was relieved when he felt her hand surround him again, lifting the heavy fabric of her robes and guiding him back inside her.

Heaven. Pure heaven.

He picked up right where they had left off, their pace quick and their rhythm pounding. He flexed his arms and squeezed her legs where he held her up. She tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes with such pleased concentration that his chest seized. Now, with the change in position, he could feel those telltale signs: the fluttering, the biting, the curling. He felt her fingernails dig into the muscle just below his neck. Her lips were bruising, and she kept breaking the kisses to gasp out his name.

The combination was maddening. Her heat, her voice, the rhythmic pounding against the wall. His mind fractured, a million pieces flying out into the space around them except for one very clear, very focused part that felt her shift against him, felt her shudder, heard her cry out. She was suddenly dead weight in his arms. His knees buckled and they slid to the ground.

He brushed a kiss to her throat and she hummed, sliding her hands up his neck to the sides of his head. Silence descended as their breathing quieted. Han had the absurd thought that afterglow had never looked so good as it did on Leia, all flush and smile and tired limbs.

She broke the stillness, her smile fading. “You know I would never have accepted his proposal, right?”

Han watched her eyes, deceptively alert despite the whiskey and the sex. “I know.”

It really hadn’t occurred to him that she would. Not for a moment. He found that incredibly comforting.

She smiled again, dazzlingly. It was like a star going supernova. “Good,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. “That’s good.”

A pause. Han was nowhere near falling asleep; the floor was hard beneath him and his knees were starting to ache where they’d hit the desk. He was thinking about the best way to get Leia up off the floor and back to their apartment when she laughed softly against his shoulder. “That wine was terrible,” she said against his shirt. “I’d take the whiskey anyday.”

“Of course you would,” he said, running a hand up and down her back. “I’m pretty sure anyone would.”  

It’s a good thing she has better taste in alcohol than she does in men, Han thought, despite his words. He decided to rest a moment, wrapped up in his princess, genuinely grateful.They could take a few minutes before reality settled in, he reasoned. That’s what drinking was for, after all.  

August Writing Challenge Submission Number One by Justine Graham and Erin Darroch

                                                      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.”

The End

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. :)

August Writing Challenge

It has been almost alarmingly quiet around here, though I'm sure that is largely my own fault for not saying much lately. So, let's do something completely for fun. Like just totally silly fun. 

So, here is a completely inappropriate challenge: Drunk Han and Leia sex. Yes, that is correct. It is up to you whether you want to get into the explicit details or not. I will request that these be light-hearted drunken sex and not like, angry drunken sex because it's my blog and I can do what I want.

So, go forth and write and submit. You may also submit a photo you want to accompany your story, and if you don't I may attach a photo of my choice. Have fun.