aimedforthemoon | (no subject)

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She leads Han up into her room, and locks the door behind them. Her room is just as (painfully) neat as the last time he was there, and she heads over to the desk. There are books stacked on the top, not to mention the spare chair.

These are all shifted to the floor.

Well, except one. Her biography (which spends its life facedown) is picked up and flicked through.

"You said you need photograph?"

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And he smiles back.

"I gotta pay you for coming to fight in my war somehow."

"I'll stay with your army until I know your world, until I can be free and make my own way. But if that takes years, remember that you owe me a ship, oke?"

Edited 2008-10-08 09:19 (UTC)

"And I'll teach you everything I know," he says, with a nod. "But I won't forget that part of the deal, I promise."

Handshake to prove it, he extends his.

"Deal," she says, taking his hand in her small one and shaking it.

And then she laughs, giddy and delighted and it's more a giggle than anything else.

Han grins at that laugh. He likes that laugh.

He sets the datapad aside on the desk. "I'll work on your papers tomorrow," he says. "Time stops out there."

"Could you write me some basic phrases, too?"

"I'll come up with a list of the basics that will help you navigate around," he says. "That way you don't wander someplace on the carrier that you shouldn't."

Not like he thinks she would.

"I'll look at them in the morning."

In the morning - not now, not later, not soon, but morning. There is an invitation in her eyes and the way she looks at him, an invitation clear as day if you know how to spot it.

Han's very aware of that look in her eyes (stay with me) and he nods, slowly.

"I'll write them in the morning."

Not now.

He kicks his boots off, one at a time, and leaves them nudged up against the desk.

She's wearing tennis shoes, no socks, and they are easily slipped off. This she does first, every movement careful and self-aware and this is different. Not lightheaded and overly confident from dogfighting, not with that heady love of life where you'd pin someone, anyone, to a wall and kiss them til they gasped.

This is deliberate. She asked, he agreed and no, you don't need the words.

Not when you lean in and up (their chairs are so close together, so close) and kiss him.

Edited 2008-10-08 14:14 (UTC)

If Han Solo were any other man, he might pause to think of the woman back home, for a moment, and it might make him stop. But Han Solo has never been that type of man (and he sees the way Leia looks at Luke and he knows) so he doesn't.

His hands shift to rest against her thighs as he leans down to return the kiss.

It's not wild and rough and breathless (not this moment anyway) but it doesn't have to be.

No, not wild and rough and, well, she is starting to feel breathless. Blame the way his hands feel against her thighs, or the way he tastes, or even just that today was not the best day she's ever had. And it's not so much that she needs this (although, sex and all things that lead to it have always helped ground her) as she wants-

Him. Still.

And, fine, yes, this as well. Kissing him slow and lingering and running her hand up his chest to curl around his neck.

If he's being honest, he's breathless too.

But that doesn't stop him from kissing her back, slow and deep, and then moving to pull her to him, closer, he's got to have her closer. He's got to have her because she understands him.

He turns the lights out before they hit the sheets of that neatly made bed of hers, even though it won't stay that way for long, there's always tomorrow to deal with the particulars.

Edited 2008-10-10 08:21 (UTC)

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