(no subject)

[aimedforthemoon]

She leads Han from the bar up to her room, and open the door with a smile and a flourish of after you.

Her room is a normal, hotel-style room; plush carpet, plain curtains framing large windows, of which one is open. But it's very....neat. She's an astronaut, and they are always neat people, but it's still a little too neat. As if she's not planning on staying.

Her bed is made, her books and manuals either neatly stacked on her desk, or neatly against a wall.

In a slight divergence of the mood, though, she also has models on her desk; a MiG-21PF, a Soyuz rocket, and an RZ-1 A-wing.

Comments

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Nice to not have to fall through the ceiling," he says, cheerfully as he steps inside her room and glances around at the surroundings. It's very neat, and reminds him of the dorms at the Academy, except they didn't have anything in regards to personal belongings.

Han crosses the room and hangs the holster on the back of her chair and looks at the models.

"This was yours," he says, in reference to the MiG.

[aimedforthemoon]

"My baby," she says, fondly, shutting the door behind them and locking it. "Utterly wonderful until you used up two-thirds of fuel.

Then you had to bail out if you couldn't land."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"You ever have to bail?"

Even for an 'earth bound' fighter, it's still impressive.

[aimedforthemoon]

"Twice.





Second time, I...might have broken my shoulder."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"I ate it off a swoop bike once."

He was lucky. The other kid ended up in medical for months.

"I've only ever broken my arm. That wasn't from bailing."

[aimedforthemoon]

"I would have been fine, except for that tree."

She shakes her head, dismissing it.

"Oke. I always forget the catch on this thing."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

He's grateful for the change of subject.

"Damn trees, huh?"

Han moves to the back of the suit and undoes the catch, before he peels it off her shoulders, his hands brushing across her frame. She really is small, but she could kick his ass.

[aimedforthemoon]

"Damn trees. Steppes are far more sensible."

Like him, underneath she's wearing a thin shirt (the collar is low enough to show the chain of her dogtags), and she rolls her shoulders back, before starting to pull her arms out.

"I love flying, but, God, do I hate wearing these things."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Steppes?"

The word isn't familiar, but it's not the thing on the forefront of his mind as he pushes the flightsuit down her sides, fingertips gliding over her ribs to assist the bright orange fabric on it's way down.

"And," he presses his lips against her neck. "You look better in things that are not orange."

[aimedforthemoon]

"I'll explain later."

Then she smiles, pulling her arms free and hooking her fingers around the top of the flightsuit once it reaches her waist.

"Name me one person who does look orange," she murmurs, sliding her suit over her hips.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Good plan."

A brief pause.

"And honestly I can't," he admits, as she slides it down (and if his hands just happen to assist that well that's just him being helpful) and he smiles against her skin. "So we'll get rid of it for now."

[aimedforthemoon]

"Another good plan."

Ah. Yes. Boots. Right. She twists away (kissing him as she does so) and pulls out her chair to start getting the things off before attempting to pull the suit off her legs.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

Boots. Yes. Right.

Han moves to the end of the bed to pull his own off (why not take care of that step now) and the boots get set beside the nearest wall, and his socks tucked into them carefully before he stands back up and walks over to her.

And kneels, to lightly tug the ends of the suit off her legs and over her feet.

[aimedforthemoon]

Her very small, calloused, scared-from-streets feet, but she's never pretended to be a protected little madame.

Under the suit, she's wearing light pants, but first to come off is that shirt of hers. And bra, of course, but without the clothes hiding her body, she slips from being 'petite' to 'wiry' and 'tough'.

Her dogtags hang low between her slight breasts.

Then she smiles at him.

"Should stay like that. I can kiss you without standing on my tiptoes."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

Han glances up at her. "Oh yeah?"

Of course he's teasing her. If she claims that she can kiss him without standing on her tiptoes then he'll stay kneeling, though he does shed his shirt. He's not totally 'ripped', by any means, but years of being a pilot, and having to stay in shape (not to mention crawling through the belly of the Falcon in some damn awkward positions) have left him with a solid build.

And there are scars.

Fights and small burns, scrapes long since faded, the faint marks of a lash (sticks and leather or whatever Shrike felt like using that day) across his spine, but he doesn't care.

The past is his past. It will stay that way unless she asks questions.

"Then c'mere," his fingertips reach up to slip beneath the cool metal tags, brushing over the lettering with his thumb. "And kiss me."

[aimedforthemoon]

He doesn't ask about hers - scrapes, small burns, a jagged reminder of that broken window running up her arm - she won't ask about his.

(although, she will wonder about those lash marks, wonder because she'll know what they are)

But Han doesn't need to tell her kiss him twice; she steps forward, slightly, and brings her hands up to frame his face before bending her head to kiss him.

It is much, much easier than before.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

It is much easier.

His fingers slide up over her ribs and to her neck, toying slightly with that thin chain of those dogtags as he tips his head into the kiss, into her hands.

"Definitely," a quick breath, another kiss. "Easier."

There is nothing more to say than that, and he's not really interested in talking either.

[aimedforthemoon]

Talking is...well, she wouldn't feel like it at the moment even if she had the confidence in her English remaining coherant. And she doesn't. Sex is hardly something she lacks since coming here, and it's fun and enjoyable and eases the tension of being trapped and dead, but it's not...

It's different when you actually want someone, as opposed to just a good time.

She wants him, and she hasn't wanted someone else for years.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

Han wouldn't mind the Russian.

(He thinks it's kind of hot.)

But talking requires not kissing, which is why he doesn't bother. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer to him, breaking from her lips only to start to work his way down her jawline, the column of her throat, the pulsepoint on her neck. Only to catch his breath.

This? Is the good kind of breathless.

[aimedforthemoon]

Her pulse is still calm, steady; then he pulls her close and kisses her jaw, her neck, and it starts to speed up even as her breath quickens.

(and her knees are not feeling weak, thank you)

She can't kiss him, not like this, but she runs her fingers through his thick hair, down across the back of his neck.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

He works his way along her shoulder, then back up to her mouth once he knows that he can kiss her without passing out from lack of oxygen.

(and his hands are sliding down her sides)

Han would suggest the bed, but in all reality when she's kissing him he's not paying much attention to anything other than the way that she tastes and the way her fingers are carding through his hair.

[aimedforthemoon]

Now she makes a sound; soft and somewhere between a moan and whimper. Her fingers tighten, just for a moment, and she deepens the kiss. Not rough, no, but certainly wanting.

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

Heat coils in his chest when she makes the noise against his mouth, and he wraps his arms around her and stands (for all the bitching they do about the height difference, she's light enough for him to pick up without risk of dropping her) and backs his way to the bed.

One step, then another, and another.

(and he's still kissing her)

And then he sits, hands moving to her hips, pulling her closer.

[aimedforthemoon]

Her legs had hooked around his waist once she'd cleared the ground, one arm around his neck and she would comment that if he drops her

(anyone else, and she would have)

but he's there and fuck, fuck, fuck,

she's enjoying this far too much. And bed is...good. She thinks, even if it means having to shift her legs to kneel and...

Right.

Pants.

(Later)

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

(Later.)

And she's there, her legs straddling his and her arm around his neck,

(she doesn't have to hold onto him but she is and he likes it)

and then he groans.

Bed is good. So is this.

so is she
she

[aimedforthemoon]

(You can claim your prize back on the cruiser)

She rocks her hips against him, hand across his shoulder even as she breaks off to kiss his jaw, his neck.

"I can't think when you do that."

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Can't think when you do that," he parrots back, with a bit of a laugh before he shifts and leans back, his shoulders hitting the blankets as he tips his head to the side.

"Thankfully don't need to think," he adds.

His hands work at her waistband (really they need to be gone and they will be shortly) while she kisses him.

[aimedforthemoon]

She pulls back enough to grin at him, and then shifts down slightly, pushing herself up.

"Well, maybe a little," she says, her hands going up to pull the pins out of her braid. "Logistics."

(and even as she speaks, she twists her hips slightly - this way, then that way, and always watching his face)

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"True..."

The word dies in his throat as he tosses his head back against the mattress, groan catching in his throat when his lungs protest breathing for the moment.

or that or anything you do to me

(He'll react once he can think again, at least he hopes.)

[aimedforthemoon]

Esfir just watches him, expression more serene than anything else. Her braid falls heavy and thick against her back, staying in place even when she tugs off the hair-tie. That she wraps around the pins, and she leans forward to toss them onto her bedside table.

Arm braced against the bed for balance, her green eyes flick back to his face before she slowly straightens up. As she moves, she trails her fingers down his chest, following the line of hair down to his belt.

"I think we'll work something out."