Work Text:
"Milestones and Proverbs"
Leia was sprawled out on the bench at the Dejarik table, tucked half under it, absorbed in one of the many books she'd found on one of Han's various datapads. He'd dug out all his old ones, charged the ones that still worked, and handed them to her to go through for entertainment. Several weeks into a trip that was going to take several weeks longer, she was finally getting around to it. The first few weeks had been overtaken by falling into bed with Han and subsequently refusing to leave it.
Now, the relentless need to be close to him had faded slightly into a welcome part of the routine, allowing room for them to do other things -- like clean the sheets, which Han was doing now, or tend to maintenance and modifications, which Chewbacca was insisting on, having been too indulgent of Han's Falcon neglect so far.
Han said Chewie had griped he was neglecting the Falcon, but Leia had asked Threepio to translate, and Threepio had reported that what Chewbacca actually said was "[I have given you enough privacy while you act like an overstimulated kath hound who has just discovered his own dick.]"
Leia found that to be quite amusing, and demanded Han stop censoring his interpretations of Shyriiwook. Han wanted to know why Chewbacca didn't include Leia in his accusations. Chewbacca, deadpan, retorted that she deserved to have some fun.
"How's she gonna have the fun if you make me work?!" Han demanded.
[Just get out of bed. I do not know how you haven't taken the skin off it at this point.]
That, Han translated faithfully, and Leia had to agree at least a little, from a practical standpoint. Not for lack of desire...a break was healthy.
So, a break she took. Relaxed and comfortable. Stretched on her stomach on the cushions, reading the book - Han had a surprisingly eclectic, appealing selection. The heat was working, she was warm, her hair was in a loose braid that wouldn't give her a headache, and she'd traded dirty, tiresome pieces of her snowsuit for a pair of bloodstripe trousers he'd let her cut into shorts and a shirt that smelled like him.
It was nice. They were still drifting along a vulnerable sublight path to an uncertain fate, but she had reached an emotional statis on that front - there was nothing to be done until they landed, until the hyperdrive was fixed. Panic abated, bridges were crossed, and they settled and basked in the discovery of each other, a whirlwind of newness settling into old habits in the pressure cooker of necessity.
Leia tapped the datapad to turn the page. The book crawled towards a scene that promised to be spicy. She idly wondered if Han had read it and reached over the edge of the bench to the floor, where she'd placed her wine. She pretended it was a nice, airy glass, instead of the chipped and warped plastic cup Han had given her. She skimmed over the spicy scene in the novel, concluded a man had written it, and tapped back to the publishing information to confirm her suspicions.
Good thing Han wasn't taking direction from novels like this.
She sipped the wine and shifted to place the cup back on the floor. She found herself looking at Han's bare foot, and then swiftly, he picked up the cup, put it on the table, and cleared his throat. She wriggled back onto the bench, tilting her head up to blink at him. Towering over her, he held something in his hand, dangling it. He lowered it slowly, and she followed the movement with her eyes, curious. After what felt like a full, dramatic minute of drawn-out posturing, Han neatly placed a long, razor-thin strand in the middle of the datapad she was reading, brushing it off his hand with a flourish.
She stared at it.
She glanced back up at him, then pinched it between her fingers, eyeing it. When she looked up, Han had crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet. He gripped the edges of a towel hanging around his neck, and a strand of his hair dripped water down his face -- he was fresh out of the shower, shirtless, and giving her a mischievous look that she was highly suspicious of.
"What is this?" she asked, lifting the hair and peering at him around it.
"Hair," he said.
She gave him a look, but then again, she'd asked a pointless question, so it deserved a pointless answer. Obviously, it was hair.
"What are you doing with it?"
"Returning it to its rightful owner."
Leia flicked it at him. It did not go far; it tangled around her fingers. She waved her hand and blew on it.
"It could be Chewie's," she retorted.
It was clearly not. It wasn't curly enough, and it was too silky. She'd seen strands of Chewbacca's loose hair. It was coarser than hers by a long shot.
"Oh," Han said, his eyes glinting slyly. "It's not."
She tilted her head.
"Why is this hair so offending?" she asked. "Surely I have shed thousands of strands -- "
"Because," Han interrupted.
"Because?"
"Want to know where I found that one?" he drawled.
Leia blinked at him. She parted her lips, thoughtful. Where was this going? He looked far, far too pleased with himself. He looked too amused in general.
"I'll bite," she decided.
Han rocked forward and placed a hand on the bench to balance himself, putting his lips next to her ear.
"I found it...in my ass crack," he informed her.
Leia jerked her head away, the hiss of his whisper tickling her. She whacked her head straight into the Dejarik table and swore. To his credit, Han's laugh turned into a strangled gasp, and he reached for her head, placing his palms on her cheek and steadying it. He ran his palm over her temple, crooning at her so comically it was almost mocking. She nipped at his hand, her face flushing, and sputtered indignantly. He pulled the hand away, feigning a wounded look, and she fixed a glare on him.
"You did not," she snapped.
He laughed too loudly.
"Yeah, I did," he argued. "I was in the 'fresher, though it was one of mine, had to keep pulling, though, 'cause it's so long -- "
"I don't think I need a play-by-play," Leia hissed.
Han grinned wickedly. She thought about picking up the datapad and whacking him with it. Instead, she snatched at the lone hair -- which was still sitting there between them, and aggressively blew it at him. He blinked and waved it away, unfazed. He laughed again, and Leia tried to resist laughing herself -- there had to be a way to maintain some dignity, though he was definitely not concerned with decorum, or pretending to have any shame.
"Why," she started, struggling with her determination not to laugh. "Why would you -- bring it out here -- to show me -- " she was losing the battle, gritting her teeth, trying to bite back a smile.
"Got a kick out of it," Han said. "Thought you would."
"Han...you're being gross," she accused.
"You're the one putting your hair in my ass crack."
"I didn't put it there!" she choked, eyes going wide. "It just...happens."
"Yeah, and if it's gonna happen all the time now, I gotta know you're conditioning properly."
Leia bit back another laugh and gave him a stern look.
"If you stayed out of my hair, then maybe -- "
"Out of your hair? I can't avoid it, it's -- "
"You don't even try!" Leia accused. She pulled her braid around to her nose, pressed it to her face, and then lowered her voice, mimicking him: "Ohhh, Leia, mmm, fuck," she pretended to chew on it, inhaling loudly, exaggerating his tendency to bury his face in her hair. She dropped her braid, pleased to see she'd gotten him to turn a little red. "You sniff it like it's covered in spice!"
He gave her an incredulous look, for the imitation, and the gall. He stood, nudging his knee at her.
"Move over," he requested, and Leia sat up, gathering the datapad to her and making room. He slid into the booth beside her, and she set the datapad aside. Han slid his shoulder against hers and swiped her cup, taking a drink so large he downed the rest of her wine.
"I wasn't finished with that!" she protested.
Han put his face close to hers, darting his tongue out to her lips.
"You can still have a taste."
Leia put her hands to his chest, keeping him at arm's length. Han smirked at her, and leaned back, lifting one leg lazily. He shoved his knee against the edge of the table, lounging next to her.
"'M just sayin', finding your hair in my ass crack seems kinda like a milestone," he drawled.
Shaking her head, Leia gave him a look.
"Do you have to keep saying ass crack?" she demanded.
"What else do you want me to call it?" Han asked, genuinely baffled. He waited, then ventured: "Behind?"
Leia made a face, shaking her head hurriedly.
"Bottom?"
"I take it back," she said. "You are an 'ass' man."
Han snorted.
"I can't believe you brought that in here to me," Leia said, leaning forward on her elbows. Han ran a hand up over her back, twisting his fingers in her shirt loosely. "You're so, so -- "
"Charming?"
"Ha!"
He leaned forward to press his nose into her hair as clownishly as she'd implied, he did, shoving his nose against her scalp.
"I don't sound like that," he growled. "Like you made me sound."
Leia turned her head, shaking him loose gently. She caught his eye, and nodded at him, dead serious.
"You do."
"Do not."
"I'll record you."
"Empty threat, Sweetheart, you'd never risk it gettin' leaked and the whole galaxy hearing you."
"I can be silent," she retorted.
"Really? Let's ask Chewie," Han said, and took a deep breath as if he'd call the Wookiee in. Leia swatted at him hastily, shaking her head -- Chewie was decidedly not in the mood. He'd very swiftly gotten over being happy for them.
"Scoundrel," she whispered.
He kissed her cheek.
"Don't be shy," he teased. "This just means we're real close...real intimate. Doesn't bother me if I keep finding your hair in my -- "
"Han, I swear, if you say ass crack one more time -- "
He trailed off obediently. Instead, he kissed her cheek again.
"I don't mind," he said.
Leia turned slightly to look at him, and at the stupid, rogue glint in his eye she burst out laughing. She hid her face in her hands, trying to stifle it, but she couldn't, and then she was thinking of milestones, and thinking, absurdly, of home, and she was laughing so hard there were tears in her eyes, so that when she raised her head and sat back a little, confusion and concern flickered across Han's face with his amusement.
He ran his hand over her hair, alarmed.
"What's wrong? Are you upset? Are you crying? Is it just laughing crying?" he asked rapidly, and his anxiety made her laugh harder, shaking her head -- yes, it was just laughing crying, but she tried to compose herself to tell him why.
"Milestone," she managed, gasping for breath. "You said - milestone."
"Well, it is," Han retorted, giving her a solemn nod. "Means you're all over me, all the time. Means it's -- "
"Real," Leia said, taking another deep breath. "Real - Han, I'm laughing...because -- you know how we are with hair," she said, exasperated. She didn't need to define the 'we;' the implication was obvious. "There is an old proverb on Alderaan about...this. After a fashion."
"There's a proverb on Alderaan about finding someone else's hair in your ass crack?"
"Han!" she admonished, laughing again. "The proverb doesn't say ass crack," she hissed.
"Well, what does it say?"
Barely composing herself, Leia found the words, and relayed the old aphorism frequently cited among romantics on Alderaan. Given she'd said it in her native language, Han glared at her impatiently, awaiting an interpretation.
"It says," she relented, "'when you cannot tell her hair from yours, your fates are braided together'."
Han gave a little sigh, clicking his tongue.
"That's gorgeous, Sweetheart," he said, pausing. He shot her a devilish look. "Real romantic way to say I found your hair in my ass."
He censored half the phrase. Leia arched a brow.
"You think...'crack' is the offensive part of the phrase?"
Han tossed his head at her, shrugging. He did think so, even though he was thoroughly enjoying repeating it. He leaned back, and she leaned back with him. His arm idled around her shoulder. Unable to help it, Leia smiled, her hands brushing over each other on the table.
"What's the Alderaanian word for ass?" Han asked.
Leia told him, and then advised: "Loosely translated." Alderannian was a soft language; most of their hard curse words were borrowed from other languages.
"Damn," Han murmured. "Even that's pretty."
She nodded, and her smile was a little sadder. It was pretty. She missed, more than she let on, hearing it spoken every day. He lifted his hand, and gently touched the side of her head where she'd banged it earlier.
"You okay?" he asked.
It was a mild question, but she read the subtext in it. He asked about more than the little bump. This had all been a lot, and after three years of building tension, it had all unraveled like an avalanche and then reknit itself into something different, and deeper. The sex, even if it got more affectionate by the moment, still easily distracted from cold hard emotion. He wanted to check in.
Leia turned her head into his touch briefly, and then pulled away, nodding.
"Fates, huh?" Han murmured.
Leia tilted her head back.
"It's only a saying, Han."
She winced a little. It might have been too heavy a thing to share, but all the lines that guided a normal relationship were so blurred. They had grown closer and closer for so long, resisting each other, and then this unexpected trip had ignited everything in the same instant it had literally stalled their progress. With their history, it was like living in a powder keg, all this time in such close quarters just sent them careening through stages that took average couples months - even years.
Han grunted softly, and shrugged.
"I like it."
She turned to look at him, and he grinned at her. Then he leaned over and hung half off the bench, rooting around on the floor. Making a satisfied noise, he sat back up, swinging the hair in front of her, and then dropping it triumphantly on the table. She shook her head, rolling her eyes.
"'M gonna keep it," he announced seriously -- really, it sounded more like a threat.
"You're insufferable," she whispered fondly.
She hesitated, eyed the table for a moment, and then snatched it up. He whipped his head around, and Leia darted her hand towards his back, reaching for his pants.
"What are you --
"If you want to keep it, I'm putting it back where it -- "
"Don't touch my -- "
Han grabbed her hand, twisting to get away from her.
"Your ass?" Leia asked, diving after him. "You don't want me to touch it? What has changed, Captain Solo?"
"It doesn't belong there!"
"I am just trying to keep it safe -- "
"Leia," he laughed, as her hand rubbed against his knuckles, tickling him. He yanked away so hard he tumbled out of the booth, and dragged her with him, sprawling onto the floor.
Leia wrestled with him, holding her own.
"Now who is being gross?" Han demanded, pushing her arms away.
"You started it! You came in here, all doe-eyed, swooning over a hair in your -- "
"Swooning? Doe-eyed? You're the gross one, Your Highness - "
They were interrupted by a bellowing growl, echoing through the main hold, startling Leia so that she shrieked, and scrambled into a sitting position. Han bolted up too, then relaxed when he realized instantly it was just the displeased howl of his co-pilot. The noise faded, and silence fell, both of them staring wide-eyed at Chewie.
The Wookiee glared at them, seething.
[You are both,] he said, all ice, no-nonsense, [revolting.]
Even Leia understood that.
Chewbacca gnashed his teeth and turned a pointed look at Han.
[You promised to assist with engine maintenance when you were out of your 'fresher.]
"I was gettin' to it -- "
[Get to it now, or I will rip you a new ass crack. You can store all kinds of trinkets in it.]
Leia gave Han a questioning look and he dusted off his hands sheepishly, pushing himself to his feet.
"That's, uh, what 'ass crack' sounds like in Shriyywook," he muttered. "More or less." He extended his hand to her and helped her up. Leia smiled wryly and tilted her head towards Chewie, indicating silently that Han better make good on his promise. Han nodded, rolling his eyes. He brushed past her, flashing a smirk over his shoulder.
"Don't get into too much trouble while I'm busy," he teased.
"I'm going to go brush my hair in your bed," she fired back.
Chewbacca grabbed Han by the nape of his neck and marched him away before he could get distracted, but not before Leia saw Han give himself a little smack on the ass for her sake. She took a few steps and leaned against the Dejarik table, smiling to herself. She felt lighthearted, a thing she hadn't felt in ages, and later, she might tell him she did think it was fate, at least a little sprinkle of it, because only a kind-hearted sort of destiny would guide her to a man who could find such joy in something so purely ridiculous, and so inconsequential in the midst of all this turmoil.
"when you cannot tell her hair from yours,
your fates are braided together."
-old alderaanian proverb that i made up in march 2023