Han wasn’t much for parties. In fact, he’d struggled to mask his dread when Leia had informed him of the Halloween Ball they were to attend. Usually her events were formal, stiff, and political—he had to make conversation with all kinds of dignitaries he didn’t want to engage, was interrogated about his views on militaristic and humanitarian issues by people who were clearly trying to expose some kind of suspected ignorance, grilled on things on which Leia worked or for which she advocated like they were trying to get him to slip up and oppose her.
But as he and Leia keyed into their apartment at the end of the night, Han couldn’t deny the party hadn’t been like that at all. Hosted by General Rieekan for New Republic military personnel and their families, the gathering had mostly just been a bunch of rank and file getting drunk and dancing. The Rogues were all there, Luke, Lando; even Chewie had agreed to come.
“No costume for you, Chewie?” Leia had smiled as they’d found him by the buffet. The Wookiee had turned to her.
“[I have come to the party as a Walking Carpet, Little Princess.]”
Han chuckled again to remember Leia’s look of horror, opening her mouth, contrite, clearly remembering, before noticing Chewie’s sparkling eyes and suppressed laughter.
“I told you we would have fun,” Leia murmured as they shut their door behind them. They stood together in the dark entryway, buzzed, happy. Leia had dressed for the evening as a figure from Alderaanian mythology—Minna, a witch-goddess who roamed the forests of the mountains, enchanting travelers, guiding the pure of heart through the misty paths and leading the wicked to their dooms. In her hair she wore a crown of golden leaves and white branches, and her body was draped with flowing silver fabric that seemed to glisten like fresh snow beneath a winter moon. She had dusted her skin with shimmering silver glitter.
Han had been transfixed by her appearance. All night it had been torture, to want her so badly. Watching her laugh, pink-faced and carefree, as she’d danced the Corellian Shuffle with Wedge and Lando, trying to teach Luke the steps. How Han had stood to the side, grinning, watching her. Slide to the left. Slide to the right. At first Han had been chuckling, seeing the kid’s stumbling attempts to learn, watching the Rogues make fun, seeing Leia’s patient instruction. But once Luke got the hang of it and Leia had simply allowed herself to have fun with the dance, Han had found himself staring as though at an actual goddess, as she swayed and jumped, her face lively and flushed, her joy almost childlike in a way he was sure she hadn’t been since before the Death Star, and the way she moved—hell, the way she moved. Her natural rhythm and grace mesmerizing, her silver dress and glittery skin gleaming, the shape and movement of her body in her enthralling costume highlighted under the flashing party lights. Not inherently sexual, but Han had intel that others did not—he was able to connect her panting breath and abandoned exertion with her breathless, gasping pleasure. Watching how she moved her hips there on the dance floor when he knew just how she moved them when he was inside her.
And then, as the song had continued, how her eyes had landed on him. How even as she’d jumped and danced and laughed with her friends, she’d sought him, locked her gaze on him. She’d smiled a bright smile, and then he’d watched her make up her mind. Grin slanting sultry, she’d held up her hand and crooked one finger, beckoning. He couldn’t hear her over the pounding music but he’d been able to read her lips, Come dance with me, Flyboy.
As a rule Han didn’t dance but how could he have refused? Her gleaming eyes, her obvious exhilaration, her hopeful anticipation and her desire for him, specifically, to be with her in that moment.
Just as a traveler drawn to Minna in the Alderaanian woods of ancient days, so was Han drawn to Leia there at that kriffing party, his feet carrying him towards her, a man bewitched, but he had had no thoughts of fighting it. He was willingly ensnared.
“It’s the Corellian Shuffle, hotshot,” Leia had told him breathlessly. “I know you know the steps.”
He did know the steps, though he’d never before been so inclined as to perform them, but there with Leia it was the most appealing thing in the galaxy. He’d held her hands as was custom, swaying with her to the beat of the music, deriving some kind of primal satisfaction to see Leia’s eyes light up with surprise and pleasure as he’d danced the steps with precision and competence.
The hours had stretched on and he’d danced with her some more, and though they never danced too erotically it was erotic just to watch her, to move with her, to put his hands on her waist or hips. They did “cauldron shots” with Luke and Janson, accepted countless pieces of candy from big bowls passed round and round, and at the end of the night Han realized he’d had fun.
When was the last time any of them had had so much fun?
Now in their dark foyer Han felt full to bursting with disbelief, and happiness, and gratefulness, and desire. And he couldn’t believe his dumb luck. Few years before he’d been slumming some shady cantinas, smuggling to survive, hard and cynical. Now here he was going to New Republic Halloween balls with the love of his life, and returning to their home in the early morning to make love after a night of hilarity and camaraderie and longing.
“Are you gonna enchant me now?” Han asked, reaching for her. Leia leaned into him so immediately that he knew she’d been craving this as badly as he had been. Their relationship had changed since Endor—they were so used to each other now, and Han was sometimes stunned to find himself domestic, to find himself settled into a routine. A lifemate, an apartment, and plans for more. But no matter how many months passed, he never tired of it, and no matter how many times they made love, it was never enough for him.
He imagined he’d spend the rest of his life wanting her, and now in the privacy of their home, he let his hands roam lower than they had at the party, over her hips, the swell of her ass beneath the clinging fabric of her costume.
He was tempted to love her right there in the foyer.
“Me? Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to lead me off in a trance, Flyboy?” she laughed, arching a brow. Han grinned a rueful smile, lifting a hand to his jaw. He’d gone as a vampire to the party, figuring a dumb cape and fake fangs would be easy enough to endure. But the cape had felt ridiculous, not his style—more Lando’s scene—so he’d left it on a chair while they’d danced. Then the teeth had made it hard to kiss Leia, to drink the shots and eat the candy, so he’d chucked those too. Nothing was left of his costume now other than the lines of fake red blood Leia had painted from the corners of his mouth, and the white shirt with its big collar.
Han wanted to say that he’d already been entranced all night, that it was she who held all the power. But Han knew that he held power over her, too, that she matched his devotion in its entirety, and the way she was leaning into him, looking up at him, dark eyes glimmering, biting her lip and clutching his big dumb vampire collar, he knew that tonight she wanted him to take the lead. The thought set his already pounding heart racing: the reality of her in his arms, wanting to play, their breathless banter that would lead them into the bedroom, the knowledge that it aroused her to think of him seducing her like some character in a holo.
“A trance, huh? That work on goddesses? Or, Jedi?”
Leia huffed a startled laugh.
The feel of her against him, the heat of her through her clothes, and the intensity of her gaze became too much for Han. He bowed his head to press his lips against the side of her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses along her jaw and throat. He felt Leia tremble and felt a wave of powerful gratification and yearning wash over him. Han smiled softly against her skin, holding her closer, and nodding as he felt her fingers slide into his hair.
“Not denying the goddess part?” he smirked. No matter what she answered Han was determined to make her feel like one tonight, and her response was a low moan as he continued to kiss her neck, nuzzling and pecking softly.
“Spent all night thinking about this,” he admitted as she tilted her head for him. “Want you so bad.”
Gently he used his teeth on her, taking care not to bite too hard but hard enough that it might have left a mark. He held it for just a moment, and then used his tongue and lips on the same spot, sucking and soothing where he’d bitten. He didn’t know if she was thinking about vampires and trances and him having his way with her, but she whimpered and clutched him to her, breathed oh so dreamily that he thought maybe she was in a trance after all. For his part he figured that his having his way with her was also her having her way with him, given how perfectly their desires and need aligned. That she was getting her way if he had his way with her.
Suddenly Leia rose onto her toes and drew him to her mouth so forcefully that Han almost fell over. With a startled huff of breath he lifted her in his arms, thrumming as she kissed him as though drinking from him. He turned and pressed her back against the door, her legs around his waist, his hands gripping under her ass and strong thighs, and they both groaned with relief and desire.
Eventually, when their kisses were positively feverish, he wrenched away from the door and moved blindly through their apartment until they were falling together into bed, still grasping at one another, still kissing even as they fell.
It was Han who drew away first, and he felt his breath leave him as he looked down at her.
“Kriff,” he murmured, touching her hip. Stretched out before him on their bed, the shape of her body accentuated by her gown, Leia was impossibly beautiful to him. The low light from passing speeders that filtered through their bedroom windows shone on the iridescent fabric of her dress and on her silver painted glitter, limning the full curves of her breasts, the slopes of her ribs and abdomen, and her lush hips in blue and purple.
He must have looked speechless, for Leia’s smile was mischievous and knowing as she reached for the neck of her gown and pulled it down, freeing her arms and pushing the gleaming material down to her waist. The sight of her laid out before him, breasts bare and luminous in the dimness, chest rising and falling as rapidly as his own... Fuck. Then Leia ran her hands over herself, from her stomach up over her ribs and the rosy peaks of her breasts, and Han heard himself make a plaintive sound of want. Her hands came to rest on the pillow to either side of her head, palms up, fingers relaxed, and as every time they were together Han felt he had never wanted her so badly.
For a moment neither of them moved, both watching the other, gazes roaming hungrily. After imagining this all night, it was both enflaming and torturous to look down at her, the sight so sexy he felt himself aching, and her precious trust in him so obvious his heart throbbed.
“Han,” Leia breathed at last, and their inaction ended. Han frantically pulled her costume the rest of the way off, divested her of her panties and the crown while she tore at his shirt and yanked at his belt. Then Leia was sinking her teeth into his neck as he had done to her, Han’s groan fierce and needful as she nipped and kissed and sucked as he had before, her intent and passion obvious, possessive and unrestrained. Wild together in bed, marking one another with mouths and teeth, their loving was almost ferocious. Han laved at Leia’s breasts, her belly. She arched under him as he moved above her, her legs around his waist, then gasped and moaned on hands and knees, until finally she was moving in his lap, their arms around each other, hands both caressing and yet demanding, lips reverent and yet devouring at each other’s throats and shoulders and collarbones.
When they finally finished they remained entwined, Leia’s thighs on either side of him, her hips rocking the barest amount, nerves still jumping with the last currents of pleasure, and Han held her tight as she whimpered against his neck, his fingers in her damp hair, his body still within hers. Overcome, Han whispered desperately how he loved her, couldn’t believe her, wanted her still.
Her silver glitter was smudged all over him. Her mouth, the pale column of her neck, her breasts and swollen nipples were stained scarlet from his painted-on blood.
Drawing away to behold her sitting astride him, the color high in her cheeks, hearing her hum of satisfaction as he trailed his fingertips down her back, Han could only utter Sweetheart.
“Your vampire bride?” she mused shakily, tracing lines over the backs of his arms, over his chest.
Han nodded, drawing her closer to kiss her again.
“I like the sound of that,” he agreed, mouth at her neck once more.
Halloween night was over, the sun beginning to rise on a new day, as Han laid Leia down on their rumpled sheets once more—a vampire having his way with a human woman or a humble mortal worshipping a goddess, it didn’t matter to Han. He would do any of it, all of it, for as long as she wanted him to. As he bent to kiss the hot center of her body with the fleeting thought that she was sweeter than any Halloween candy and more intoxicating than any cauldron shot, it struck Han how truly Leia was the goddess she had dressed as. Not in any way that removed her from her own humanity. But she was a protector of the innocent and the righteous, and the demise and dread of evil. A force. And how he had been, truly, under her spell from the moment they’d met—lured, caught, following her, unbeknownst to him, all along. He would follow her anywhere, he knew: into a treacherous forest from some Alderaanian myth, into battle against ten thousand stormtroopers, into a hundred Death Stars.
Into the deep intimacy they now shared.
Sucking and licking over the tender flesh at the slick crux of her, Han guided her legs over his shoulders, resolved to make her come again, and awed, as he often was, by the knowledge that Leia would follow him anywhere, too.
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