Luke can’t stop staring at Hanna Solo’s tits. It’s sort of a problem.
It’s actually been a problem ever since they met at that seedy cantina on Tatooine, but every moment since then was filled with blaster fire for awhile, so Luke didn’t really worry about the inevitable path her eyes took whenever she was in Hanna’s presence and Hanna wasn’t covered chin to toe in a pilfered storm trooper’s uniform. Luke figured she might die, and if she was gonna die, she might as well spend her last moments gazing in fascination upon the sweat-dewy crease between Hanna’s gorgeous, ample tits.
Of course, she ends up not dying. In fact, the fast-paced madness of the rebellion slows down for more than a few moments, their missions more strategic and tactical now that the Death Star is gone, so not only is there very little to distract Luke from Hanna’s chest, Hanna also decides to stick around the base and help out now that the stakes were lower, so they’re in constant proximity.
Luke was hoping her embarrassing crush will fade with the adrenaline of the Death Star, but it doesn’t. In fact her feelings crystalize, solidify into something more than a crush, something closer to genuine affection, softness, hunger. She doesn’t just want to lick Hanna’s collar bones, she wants to lie beside her and hear about her life. Who she was before the rebellion, how she won the Falcon, the tale of every sorry, thirsty boy she’s pissed off in the whole galaxy.
They’re rooming together on the base in Hoth, which is problematic for two reasons: one is that it’s fucking freezing there so Hanna’s nipples are always bullet-hard through her shirt, and the second is that the days are wildly short and throw Luke’s rise-at-dawn routine off, so she can’t remember how to sleep properly. This means she and Hanna spend a lot of nights awake together, exchanging fish stories. Luke about her escapades hot-wiring and piloting illegal transports on Tatooine for sport, Hanna about her daring smuggling exploits around the galaxy, stealing Imperial goods and distributing them amongst the people. Luke is pretty sure they both portray themselves more heroic than they actually were, at the time, but it feels good anyway, to lie. To pretend they always had a rebellious spirit before Ben Kenobi found them both and threw them together.
Still, it’s a lot of delirious nights too close to the gun-metal and blaster-oil smell of Hanna Solo, and Luke feels like she’s slowly going crazy. She tries her hardest not to stare at her cleavage, but at this point its a lost cause. It’s where her eyes go, inevitably, when she’s tired or drunk and she’s almost always both when they’re staying up together like this. She won’t even realize her gaze has slipped down again until Hanna catches her, which she always does. She’ll snap her fingers, smirk wide and complacent as she says, Hey, kid. My eyes are up here.
That’s all that happens, usually. Luke’s eyes lingering too long, Hanna calling her out on it, and then the both of them carrying on, Luke blushing and Hanna’s lips twisting into that terrible, knowing, half grin. Then eventually they’re drunk or tired enough to pass out, so they do, the storm raging white and frigid outside.
Hanna hasn’t made a big deal about it yet, so, Luke is not expecting a fucking interrogation squad when it happens again. They’re lying side by side on their shitty rebellion-issued cots, snow battering the windows and wind howling as it whistles through the base. “That’s why I have that giant price on my head,” Han sighs, flipping her shoulder length honey-brown hair from one shoulder to the other, smirking as she so often is. “That and the fact Jabba wants me as one of his slave girls. That sick fuck would really like to see me in chained up,” she sighs, shifting her gaze easily to Luke. “You and him both, huh?”
She raises an eyebrow and her teeth flash and suddenly, Luke realizes she’s staring at her tits again. Her gaze snaps off to some indistinct point over Hanna’s shoulder, because she does not appreciate being compared to Jabba the Hut. “No,” she snaps defensively. “It’s not—I’m not—”
“Hey kid,” Hanna murmurs, holding her hands up in mock surrender and shifting back so her shirt opens up even more. “I don’t mind, really. It’s just. I don’t get it, I guess. You’ve got a pair yourself, don't you? Why do you need to keep ogling mine?”
She reaches down and pushes them together to emphasize, brows arched tauntingly over her eyes, which are a mystery, somewhere between green and brown and storm blue at all times, impossible to pin down. Dry mouthed, Luke licks her lips, stirring in the mess of Bantha skins on her cot. “I don’t really, though. Have you seen my chest? It’s flat, like a boys.”
Hanna really looks then, careful and surveying and lingering in this way that makes Luke want to crawl out of her skin before it catches fire. “Huh, I dunno. I’d say there’s a little more there than a boy. Enough to fill my palm, at least,” Hanna observes, holding her piloting-rough hand up to cup something imaginary in the air. Her eyes are twinkling so bright Luke can’t tell what she’s poking fun at, if she's poking fun at all. It’s always so hard to tell with Hanna. Regardless, her heart is pounding, perspiration has begun to bead at the place where her legs are crossed tight under the skins.
“I don’t know,” she says nervously, wanting to cover her chest with her arm, even though it’s thrilling to have Hanna looking at her, talking about her. “They’re just not—as nice as yours.”
Hanna, who does not miss a beat, who makes things look easy even as she is failing at them, reaches out and hooks a calloused finger into the V-neck of Luke’s linen tunic. Her nail scrapes ever so briefly across the pink flush of her skin. “Dunno if I can be a fair judge of that,” she says, shrugging. “If I've never seen them.”
Luke squirms, rubbing her thighs together because Han’s expression is so delicious and crooked she feels like she could get lost in it. She’s fairly certain this whole thing is a joke, after all if Hanna really wanted to see her tits she could have requested to do so much earlier than tonight, as Luke has made it very clear she’s theoretically interested in such things. But she’s never done anything more than call Luke out for the mortifying candor of her attraction, so there’s no reason for her to suddenly imply she wants to see Luke’s nipples the way Luke needs to see hers. She’s probably bored, or horny, which makes sense because she was only just complaining about how booze always makes her extra slutty. Still, Luke is weak and desperate, and has never had a girl teasingly touch her in the whole of her fucking boring desert farm life, let alone a full-blown, sexy, infuriating woman like Hanna Solo. So, even if this is nothing but a game, she’s not in a position to pretend she has other options. Or like it isn't the most exciting moment of her life. “Do you. Um. Would you like to see them? They’re not impressive, not at all,” she disclaims, tilting pathetically into Hanna’s coy touch.
The grin slapped haphazardly across Hanna’s face widens, and Luke’s heart flips-flops.
“Yeah kid, let’s see’em. Take this off,” she mumbles, tugging at the linen, rucking the neck open deliberately so Luke’s sternum is visible in all its bony glory. There was a time in her life she tried to be feminine, tried to look like the pretty girls on Tatooine who actually managed to marry their way out of the Outer Rim planets when diplomats or traders came through. It never worked, though. She just couldn't pull that off, and having anything other than a boy’s hair-cut was impractical during the harvest when she was constantly bending and lifting out in the terraforming tents. As a result she never cared much for passing herself off as anything but a worker, a farmer. Her arms are built but so is her chest, the faint softness of her breasts sitting on sheets of pectoral muscle, and as she shrugs her way out of her tunic, her cheeks burn because even if Hanna isn’t traditionally feminine either, at least she’s very obviously, indisputably a woman.
She doesn’t wear make up or suck up to men, but that doesn’t stop the careless toss of her chocolate hair from being beautiful, the curves of her from from stealing Luke’s breath. Compared to Hanna, she feels like a skinny, naive teenager. Or worse, a boy. Still, this isn't about her, not really. It’s just a gambit, step one towards the possible goal of seeing Hanna’s tits. An I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours situation. So, she pools the linen around her waist and forces herself to throw the Bantha skins off of her.
Shockingly, something in Hanna’s gaze softens as she examines Luke’s toned, almost flat chest. “Hm,” she says, licking her lips. “Those things you wear make you look so scrawny. You’re actually really strong,” she observes, eyes flicking up and down her torso before they land on her face.
The eye contact makes Luke’s stomach clench like a fist. “You gonna show me yours now?”
“Sure,” she says like its no big deal, reaching out into the charged space between them and laying her hand on Luke’s cot easily. “Mind if I touch?” she says then, and what? Luke actually brings her knees to her gut, body curling in on itself reflexively.
“Why?” she spits out, unable to imagine a single reason why Hanna might want to actually feel her skin. There are a multitude of reasons she has to feel Hanna’s, which is golden brown and marked in a scattering of moles like starts to chart a course home by. But hers? She’s always faintly sun-scorched, too pink, sometimes peeling.
Hanna’s smile cracks, dissolves into laughter. “Fine, fine. Guess you can blow up weapons of mass destruction but still can’t take a joke,” she snaps, withdrawing her hand and making a big show of settling back, hooking her finger unto the bottom hem of her shirt to pull it over her head since it’s already unbuttoned as low as it can possibly go. “Here it is, the big reveal, the moment you’ve been waiting for,” she says, voice droll and clipped, muffled by fabric as she wrestles the mess of her hair out the neck.
Luke watches the flex of muscle over her ribcage as her arms extend over her head, and even before she gets to see Hanna Solo’s tits unobstructed, she’s clenching her jaw, she’s writhing there in her cot, grateful her lower half is still obscured in skins because it gives her room to pathetically hump nothing in longing.
Hanna lets them flop back down dramatically, nipples drawing tight because no matter how hot this room feels to Luke, they’re still absolutely on Hoth. “Wow,” she murmurs, very nearly slurring the word in the sudden flush of spit in her mouth.
Hanna is, predictably, perfect. Her tits are heavy, round and lush and capped with puffy brown areolas, and Luke can so easily imagine how warm they’d be, the give under her hands, the way she could soften the tight gather of her nipples in the heat of her own mouth. God. Her hands are shaking, so she shoves one between her thighs, the other under her head to still the tremor.
“So, I have some questions,” Hanna asks, rolling onto her side, the weight of her tits settling in front of her, onto her cot. Likes eyes are locked there pitifully, so she has no idea what Han’s facial expression looks like now. “But at the top of the list is, why you won’t let me touch yours, when you so clearly want to touch mine?” Hanna thumbs over her nipples teasingly as she says it, which makes Luke slow to actually make out the words other the thud of her pulse in her ears.
“I—I just didn't think you a actually wanted to touch mine? Why would you, like, there’s nothing to touch,” Luke explains. She sounds like she’s being self-deprecating, but the truth is she’s not. She’s just speaking honestly, about the respective situations: Hanna having two delicious handfuls to squeeze and bite and suck on, and herself tragically bestowed with a faint dusting of fat upon muscle, like frost forming on the window of her X wing when it’s left in the hangar deck. She doesn’t get it. Though it’s hard to understand anything, really, when Hanna Solo is half naked in front of her.
“You—“ Hanna starts before pursing her lips and cutting herself off. Luke watches and waits, still drunk on the look of her, hands itching. “I can’t tell if you’re stupid or just—Luke,” she interrupts when it’s clear Luke is only half listening. Then she makes an impatient sound, gets up off her cot, and drops onto Luke’s, in the six inches or less of space between Luke’s body and the very edge of the mattress.
Their bodies are flush and tangling for a terrifying moment before Luke frantically adjusts to allow Hanna more room, heart pounding, stomach twisting at the way their bare skin feels sliding together. “What are you—”
Hanna cuts her off, pins her down with a broad, warm hand to her shoulder. “I’m flirting, obviously. Or, I thought it was obvious,” she says easily, hand rough and heavy and hot. “That’s what I’m doing, anyway. What you’re doing remains the question, kid. I can’t figure you out,” she huffs, breath hot, flesh hotter as it bucks up against Luke’s in too many places to count. “God, your heart. I can hear it beating,” she mumbles, all the colors in her eyes flashing. “You want to suck my tits, don’t you?” she asks, arching her back and pressing them into Luke’s face temptingly. Her nipples nudge against Luke’s chin, her cheeks, and most horribly, her panting lips and god, yes, Luke wants to. She wants so badly to be the sort of farm girl who’s touched a woman before, who knows how to make her feel good, get her wet and squirming under her fingers, but she’s not. She has no idea what the fuck she’s doing besides wanting so she’s just spread and messy under Hanna, mouth watering with how badly she needs to taste her sweat, eyes wide and panicked.
“Well?” Hanna asks, impatient at the same time she’s clearly enjoying having Luke on the edge, squirming between delirious hunger and absolute petrification.
“Yeah,” she finally manages, palm coming up to cup the sweet, soft heft of Hanna’s chest with her hand, everything feeling like a dream. “Can I?”
“Yup,” Hanna sighs, shifting so her nipple drags right across the hungry part of Luke’s lips. “Guess I have to spell it out for you, huh kid?” she manages to hiss before her breath punches out of her in a cut off gasp, weight suddenly unsteady as she crushes Luke into the bed. “Suck them. Go to town.”
Luke is lost the second she closes her lips around her nipple, tongue lashing, hands wandering up and down Hanna’s ribcage and squeezing her tits because apparently, she’s allowed to do that, and she’s not gonna waste a single fucking second of this new surreal madness. This is she’s been dreaming of: Hanna Solo spread out on top of her, rocking steadily into her mouth, skin hot and salty under her tongue as she grinds into the solid plane of Luke’s bent thigh. Luke wonders if maybe she really did die in the rebellion, and everything since then has been some weird, idyllic afterlife.
“Luke,” Hanna chokes out, carding a hand roughly through Luke’s close-cropped blonde hair. “Can I touch you? S’alright if the answer is no I just need—I need an answer kid, m’dying.”
Luke is having a hard time believing she’s worth touching, but she doesn’t want to deny Hanna a single thing, so. She also doesn't want to stop sucking her nipple, but she makes herself unlatch, spit on her chin as she grinds out, “Sure, yeah, you can,” before diving back in, teeth razing over the perfect hard nub in her mouth.
“Fuck. Thank you,” Hanna says, voice somewhere between exasperation and relief. Then she’s shifting her weight, canting to the side a bit so she can smooth her hand down Luke’s flexing arm, thumbing into her bicep, the ditch of her elbow. It seems like nothing, at first, platonic encouraging maybe, but then she’s getting that big rough palm between them, cupping Luke’s chest and thumbing over her nipple, getting it hard.
Luke’s whole body erupts in goosebumps, a shiver wracking her from the crown of her head to her toes. She’s not even sure she likes it it’s so sensational, almost ticklish, but it’s Hanna’s hands and Hanna’s breathless gasp like her skin feels good or something, so she lets it happen, tries to wrap her head around the fact a woman wants to touch her. “You’re so fucking hot, Luke,” Hanna chokes out then, like she’s reading Luke’s mind, absorbing her insecurity and disbelief, determined to turn it on its head. “You don’t even know. Don’t even know how fucking bad I’d been wanting to get my hands on you.”
A groan escapes Luke’s throat at such impossible words, muffled by her mouthful of flesh. She pulls off, saliva making her voice flooded and sticky as she murmurs, “Tell me what you want—I’ll do it, just tell me. M’yours.”
“This whole girl, all mine,” Hanna breathes, holding Luke down with a palm on the throat as she peels back to replace one tit with the other, pressing one nipple into Luke’s mouth while the other stands out hard and glistening in the night. “Aren’t I fucking lucky.”
Luke, of course, knows she’s the lucky one, actually, but whatever. She’s not gonna complain if Hanna want to flatter her. She laps at whatever Hanna gives her, feeling her up, pressing her leg into the warm, humid split of her thighs eagerly at the same time she tries not to get ahead of herself and expect more than she’s getting tonight. She wants all of Hanna, of course, even if she’s not sure what that entails, exactly what it means to fuck a girl. Her mouth is wet and so is the rest of her though, and she’s open, she’ll learn, she just needs to be be directed, led.
She pulls back just enough to rub her lips all over the spit-slick tip of Hanna’s tit, drunk on the smell of her, booze and smoke and metal and leather. “You’ve really thought of this? Like before tonight?”
Hanna laughs breathily, as she grinds her cunt slow and deliberate up the plane of Luke’s thigh. “Just about every goddamned day since you showed up at the Cantina and looked at me—the way you do. You put it into my head but damn, I’m not complaining,” she mumbles. “I thought about it. M’still thinking about it, obviously. Think about all of you, all the time.”
Luke’s gut coils hot and tight, hips lifting up off the bed without her even meaning to. “What do you think about?” she asks, desperate to know because she needs a map, some guidelines. She needs Hanna to put her exactly where she wants her so she can do a good job making her feel good, giving her everything she wants. She swirls her tongue around Hanna’s nipple and Hanna watches, gaze hot and close and yes, that’s what Like needs, the sort of control and facilitation she thrives on. “Tell me.”
“Mmm. Well, right now m’thinking about that mouth. Those pretty lips, that tongue, and how good they’d feel between my legs.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Luke whimpers, rubbing her whole face into the humid ditch between Hanna’s tits, where she’s musky and warm and her heart is steadily thudding. The idea of tasting her there, where she’s ripest makes Luke positively swoon with desire. She's consider a universe where Hanna Solo lets her pinch her nipples to hard points under her shirt on dare, or something, but never one where she might be lucky enough to drop to her knees and drown between the powerful clench of Hanna’s thighs. It’s so fucking much she almost feels sick with desire just imagining it, and her hands lose sight of her mind and move beyond her will, fisting wrist deep in Hanna’s hair, over her shoulders, down the curl of her spine. “Please, please, let me,” she begs, biting the swell of Hanna’s tit, just beneath the flat place under her clavicle, where she can see the flutter of her pulse if she stares long enough. “Ride my face.”
“Shit,” Hanna chokes out, laughing before she wrenches away, flipping her hair, which has begun to curl up in the humidity. “You don’t need to beg me, kid, you can just lie there. Lie there and open that gorgeous mouth.”
Luke can’t believe Hanna actually called her mouth gorgeous. Hanna, whose mouth is forever twisted into pouts or smirks, the sort of expressions that beg to be bitten, struck with an open palm. Luke feels like all her mouth ever does is hang open stupidly while she stares at Hanna, so it’s stunning, to think it could be the sort of thing a woman looks at, thinks about riding. She licks her lips before she parts them, hoping she looks wet, inviting.
“Yeah, god, look you,” Hanna groans, thumbing over the swollen slick of her lower lip before sitting up, wiggling out of her insulated cargo pants. The skin of her legs is pale, and Luke realizes with a sudden plunge in her gut that she’s never seen Hanna here and fuck, god, the thought of being close enough to actually taste that skin has her panting.
“Sit on my face,” she manages to get off, hands moving beyond her will to cup Hanna’s hips as she works her underwear off, too. They’re holey, stretched out threadbare things and Luke’s not even sure why, but the fact they’re so broken in has her mouth watering. “Please,” she whines, thumbing at the dark curls as Hanna reveals them clumsy increments, stunned she’s getting what she wants after so much idle, seemingly hopeless longing.
“Patience, kid,” Hanna says, though her voice is reedy as she lifts one knee and kicks the rest of her clothes of into a messy pile on the floor. Then, once she’s fully naked, she shifts up the bed on her knees, which are bracketing Luke’s body, trapping her in between. “God you look fucking good,” she groans, which is crazy because it was exactly what Luke was thinking as she stared and tried not to actually fucking drool down her chin or something embarrassing like that. “Bet you lick it real good, even if you’ve never done it before. Bet you’re a natural.”
“I am,” Luke promises, positively certain she’s going to be good at this, despite her tragic past entirely devoid of having gorgeous women sit on her face. Impatient, she tries to drag Hanna in by her hips, fingers dimpling warm, pale skin until Hanna actually laughs at her, makes a fist in her hair and holds her fast and immobile while she tugs pathetically against her grip.
Then, in glorious slow motion, Hanna uses her free hand to reach down, smooth the dark hair aside, and spread her cunt lips.
Luke’s mouth floods, and she makes a low, involuntary sound in the back of her throat like a fucking snimal. She can smell the musk and spice and salt, and it smells like Hanna always smells but more, more intimate and more mouth watering and she looks so fucking sexy like that, split so Luke can see the lewd glistening, the swollen nub of her clit half-hidden in pink folds. “Oh,” she murmurs, and she can feel Hanna’s grin cutting into her like a hot knife into butter.
“It turns me on to look at you when you look at me,” Hanna says, voice coy, though her breath catches as she rubs her index finger in sloppy circles around her clit, burning up in the needy blue of Luke’s eyes. “Which you do pretty much all the time. So it’s safe to say you’re always turning me on, kid. So fucking needy.”
Luke tugs, desperately fighting Hanna’s grip because she doesn’t want to be teased, she wants to lick her, she wants to taste, she wants to drown. “Feeling’s mutual,” she grinds out, and it must be too much for Hanna to take too because so suddenly she’s letting go of Luke’s hair and settling down, weight sweet and crushing and solid on her chest which is fine because Luke didn’t want to breathe anyway.
It’s a lot to keep track of. The taste is overwhelming, Hanna all salt and slick and a faint metallic edge that makes Luke groan, lick deeper, everything just aimless, self indulgent swipes of her tongue where Hanna is wettest. Luke forgets she’s supposed to be making Hanna feel good because she’s just so thrilled to be here. She laps up inside her, grips the firm, muscular flex of her ass and thinks m’fucking her. I’m fucking Hanna Solo and the thought alone is so powerful and world-changing she feels her own cunt pulse in time with her frantic heartbeat.
“Damn, Luke,” Hanna gasps, arms braced on the wall the cot is pushed up against so her back can dip low and filthy, so she can hump Luke’s mouth with raw, greedy abandon. Luke might be fucking her but she’s not going to be the thing that brings her off. Luke can tell Hanna is gonna bring herself off fucking Luka’s mouth, using her tongue, and something about that is so dizzyingly hot she wants to cry. She needs to be used, she needs to be trapped between Hanna Solo’s thighs and treated like a pillow, a bunched handful of sheets to rub off on.
“God your mouth is wet, so fucking good,” Hanna gaps as she pulls off leaving Luke licking messily at the air, chin and cheeks shining. “Here, suck me right here,” Hanna asks, reaching down to part her lips again, exposing her clit. “Actually, kiss it first. Lemme feel how soft that mouth can get.”
Luke can get so soft, she’s sure of it. Her eyes flutter closed and she cranes her neck to rub the puffy-slick of her lips over Hanna’s clit, stomach clenching at how hard it is. Because she can’t stand much of this without tasting, she lets the tip of her tongue push out and lap sweet and gentle, and Hanna’s palm drops to cup her cheek, thumbing into the flush, and Luke looks up blearily, stunned by how fucking beautiful she is. Her flexing thighs, the firm ladder of her abs under a layer of softness folded and dusted in fine, soft hair under her navel. And her tits, her fucking tits. They’re heaving in time with her breath, nipples hard, skin glittering in sweat and maybe Luke’s spit so that her loose brown hair is sticking to her skin in places. Luke rubs her thighs together and sucks, fascinated, moved by the way she can watch Hanna react in real time to the sensation.
There’s a line through her brow, a furrow that deepens and she bucks and thrusts, perspiration beading at her temples, mouth lush as it falls open to gasp. Fuck, Luke doesn’t want to stop making her feel good, not ever. She wants to see her like this always: Hanna who always pretends she’s unsinkable, who acts like she doesn’t need anyone, melting in Luke’s mouth, moaning rhythmically as her hips jerk and stutter.
Luke gets lost to the storm of having her mouth fucked, for awhile. She loses track of time, focusing only on the flavor, the burning metallic slickness all over her tongue, which she keeps lashing as best she can, despite the way Hanna’s limiting her motion, her freedom. She’s pretty sure Hanna comes a few times but it’s hard to tell, really, if that pulsing on her chin and the way Hanna’s body locks up is a climax, when Hanna just starts right up again after a few seconds of shuddering and gasping. Luke gets the hang of it, regardless. Learns to ride and steady ebb an flow, like Hanna is a tide and her tongue is the moon and she drives her, shapes her.
Hanna needs it soft and delicate sometimes, no harsh sanction or licking just gentle, tender motion with Luke’s mouth slack and hot and wet. But then, as the tension builds and her body starts to tighten and flex like a live wire, clit pulsing in Luke’s mouth, she starts to demand more. More pressure and more intensity, focused sucks and and deliberate flicks of Luke’s tongue, until she’s cursing and bucking so hard into Luke’s face that her upper lip feels raw from having been rubbed into her teeth, nose bruised from Hanna’s pubic bone. Luke feels breathless and dizzy and wrecked and sore, but she doesn’t care, not a single bit. This is where she’s wanted to be, whether or not she realized it, since she first saw Hanna and couldn't tear her gaze from the hypnotizing crease between her tits. She wanted to pitch forward into that darkness and stay, she wanted to be absorbed, lost, used, wrung out. And here she is, frayed to nothingness between Hanna’s thighs, and it’s perfect.
Eventually, Hanna goes limp, collapsing onto Luke in a mess of wheezing gasps, tinged with something that might be hysterical laughter. “Shit,” she giggles, hands all over Luke’s throat, ass in the air as she lies there, a suffocating dead weight. “You could keep going, couldn’t you? Just let me ride your face all night?”
“Yes,” Luke mumbles, sounding drunk her voice is so slurred and thick and emotional. “Well like, until I got hungry. Or had to pee.”
Hanna laughs, peeling away to sink into the cot next to Luke instead of on top of her, shivering, hair a frizzy mess. Luke tries to smooth it down before she gets distracted by Hanna’s tits, which her hands drift to, rapt. “Or until you had to get off,” Hanna says then, carding her hand through the sweat-damp mess of hair at the base of Luke’s neck, twisting her fingers into it and tugging. “Bet you’re going crazy, huh? Bet it got you really wet to have me fuck your face like that.” Before Luke has a chance to admit she is, indeed, very wet, Hanna’s eyes get this terrifying sparkle to them like she's just had an amazing idea, and she thumbs over Luke’s swollen lower lip and mumbles, “I want to kiss you.”
“You do?” Luke asks, baffled. She knows that kissing usually comes a long with sex, when people are in love or married or whatever, but she would never be so bold and greedy as to assume that this is serious for Hanna, that she wants more from Luke than a way to feel good, pass the time, warm up their stupid, frigid room on Hoth. Luke licks her lips, tilting closer as the world shifts on its axis dizzyingly.
Hanna’s just-come grin shifts from hectic to incredulous. “Yeah, why do you look so surprised? I just came in that mouth like, four times. Plus, it’s fucking pretty kid, how many times do I gotta tell you what a pretty mouth you have? God, and look, it’s all shiny. Covered in me,” Hanna huffs out, reaching for Luke’s face to smooth a thumb over the smear of her lower lip.
Luke feels her blush heat up under Hanna’s rough palm, everything she does so obvious and transparent. “You can kiss me,” she murmurs, eyes dropping, skirting down Hanna’s throat, her sternum, so much skin.
Hanna smirks, and then Luke gets to feel the uneven shape of it pressed into her lips before she opens her mouth, parting for the tide.
She learns kissing is weird and wet and very amazing, that it feels like she’s calling off a cliff. She thought Hanna would be a rough kisser, that she’d tease her or use her tongue or her teeth a lot, but instead she’s miraculously slow and soft, like she’s waiting for Luke to get used to the miracle of sharing breath before she tastes her too deep. It’s Luke who finally slips her tongue out into the fire of Hanna’s mouth, and in response Hanna makes a sound, something between a groan and a scoffing laugh. Then she gets bolder, firmer, holds Luke steady and licks right into her like Luke licked into her cunt and god, fuck, the whole thing has Luke shivering, her nails dragging up and down Hanna’s back like she’s worried she’ll float away if she doesn’t anchor her here.
“Can taste myself all over you, kid,” Hanna pants as she pulls away, still close enough their lips ghost together. “Tastes better on your tongue. Guess it should be there all the time.”
Luke actually laughs, a gale of desperate breath that cascades around them because she can’t believe this, she can’t believe that Hanna is implying she wants this again, wants it always. It’s probably just hyperbole, probably the sort of manipulative sweet-talk that has half the galaxy in love with her, but Luke doesn’t care. She’s pathetic and lost to this, the pressure of Hanna’s chest pressing into her, the wide splay of her tits, the way she’s grinding Luke into the cot with her hips steadily like she’s ready to take her mouth again if Luke will let her.
“I’ll put my mouth there and lick you whenever you want,” Luke confesses, letting her head fall back as Hanna kisses down her throat, nips at her pulse. “And you can kiss it off of me. Whenever you want.”
“You’re fucking—god,” Hanna growls, pressing her face into Luke’s sternum and gripping her hips, thumb circling over the sharp juts of bone. “Will you let me do that to you?” she asks then, voice wavering like she knows it’s a risk, whatever she’s asking.
Hanna rolls her eyes, and that makes Luke’s stomach swoop, just seeing her, up so close, glorious and swollen-mouthed and teasing her, like she always does. She sits up, grinning, and cups one hand gently, questioningly between Luke’s legs, making her yelp. “Eat you out,” she says then, applying the slightest bit of pressure with the heel of her hand. Luke whites out, just flat-lines there on the bed, squeezing Hanna’s hand between her thighs before letting them fall open, her back rolling a bit so her pelvis tilts up invitingly. She’s never, ever thought about Hanna, or any girl, really, wanting to do the stuff to her she so desperately wants to do to them. She thought she was sort of broken, some malfunctioning version of a woman who wanted very strange and very specific things and that she would be insanely lucky if she ever found a girl crazy or open-minded enough to let her try them. The idea of Hanna Solo wanting to touch her, asking to lick her, feels impossible.
“Eat…” she starts, letting the world trail off because she’s not entirely sure she knows what it means, though she suspects.
“Oh my god, Luke,” Hanna sighs. “I dunno what they call it on Tatooine, but I’ll spell it out for you: I want to take these off,” she says, making a fist in Luke’s cargo pants and tugging at them punishingly. “Spread your legs, spread everything, really, and lick you right fucking here. Like you did to me. God. I want to taste you,” she explains, spreading her hand wide again and pressing into Luke’s mound, watching her buck with hungry eyes. “But I need you to say yes first. M’not an asshole, I only play one at the Cantina.”
Luke can’t see, she can’t think. Her vision is static and every sensation has been whittled down to Hann’s palm pressed to her cunt, maddening even though payers of fabric. “Yes,” she manages to get out, since Hanna asked for that specifically. “Yes, yes.”
“Good,” Hanna mumbles, breath leaving her in a relieved exhale as she lets go of Luke in favor of snapping her waistband against her flat, heaving stomach before she starts rolling them over her narrow hips. Luke feels terrified and exposed already; the idea of actually spreading for Hanna almost too much to consider submitting herself to. She’s seconds away from panic when Hanna stops to squeeze her thighs, bending down so her hair tumbles over Luke’s bent knees, which she kisses, rubbing her face into the bones. “You have no fucking idea how perfect you are,” Hanna declares then, rubbing her palms down the length of Luke’s quads, touch heavy, hungry. Luke can tell Hanna wants her, can feel the desire burning through her palms and that makes it so, so much easier to imagine letting her close. letting her in.
“I did save the galaxy. The rebellion gave me a medal,” she mumbles, rubbing her cheek into the sheets, watching Hanna’s face through the window of her steadily parting knees. “I’m not terrible.” It’s a joke, but Hanna doesn’t laugh. She shakes her head, shifts down off the cot so she’s on her knees at the foot of it.
“I told you not to get cocky. That—that stuff isn’t what I mean, anyway,” she mumbles with a lopsided grin, kissing down the inside of Luke’s calf, crinkling down the blonde hair there. “I mean how fucking hot you are, Luke. Yeah, you’re rebellion hero, big whoop. But you’re also—god,” she hisses, biting the inside of Luke’s thigh as they fall apart, lewd and vulnerable. “You’re a beautiful girl.”
Luke, with her short hair and flat chest and perpetual sun burn and calloused hands, has never felt like a beautiful girl. She gave up on being one of those a long time ago, when she thought she’d die on a moisture farm amid the dust, wishing for more than the Outer Rim. But now, she’s on Hoth, fighting for the rebellion, and Hanna Solo is on her knees beside her cot, kissing her thighs. “Thank you,” she murmurs, voice embarrassingly thick with tears. “I—I think you’re the only person who sees that.”
“Well, lucky me, then, I get you all to myself then, huh?” Hanna quips, smoothing her hands up the insides of Luke’s thighs, where the skin is softest. Luke shivers, and lets herself be looked at, stomach roiling, cunt throbbing under the burn of Hanna’s gaze. “God, you’re so pink,” she murmurs, thumbing over Luke’s slit, spreading her inner lips wide. It should feel invasive, and it sort of does, but mostly it just makes Luke throb, the whole of her so wet and wanting.
“Please,” she breathes, back arching, the huff of Hanna’s exhalation and palpable, delicious thing. “You can do whatever you want.”
Hanna makes a sound and then she’s leaning forward, close and closer and oh, so suddenly Luke is feeling the wettest, hottest feeling she’s ever had. Wetter than water, hotter than fire. A wild, messy sensation spreading at her center, washing over her in waves as Hanna licks. Her spine curls, her hips buck, and she's never—touching herself has never felt like this. That was shameful rubbing under her sheets just to make an ache go away but this—this is everything. It’s overwhelm and it’s madness and it’s a storm, nervy and hot and insistent, Hanna refusing to back down even as Luke twists and writhes and cries out. She just keep sucking, groaning hot and muffled into the slick mess of Luke’s cunt.
Hanna touches her while she does it, hair spread in a ruin over Luke’s stomach, palms under her ass to grip it, firm and wanting. And Luke—Luke couldn’t stop her orgasm if she wanted to. There's nothing she can do to stave off the threat of it, the wild, driving heat of Hanna’s tongue, the searing, blinding pleasure. All she can do is lock up and shout, thighs coming to Hanna’s neck to tighten. Hanna doesn’t stop though, she doesn’t even slow down. She moans and latches on and stays even as Luke rides out her orgasm in lurching waves.
When she lets go and melts into the cot, Hanna pulls back laughing, mouth and chin glistening, flushed. “You ok, kid?” she asks, curling her strong arms around Luke’s thighs and squeezing, a filthy, skin-slick embrace.
Luke’s head lolls on her pillow and she can’t seem to lift it, so she just says, “I’m great.”
“Oh, I bet you are,” Hanna sighs, standing unsteadily as she gathers her hair to tie it back. Luke watches her, stars in her eyes, stomach in knots even after coming because Hanna is just that fucking good to look at. “Damn, I like you staring,” Hanna observes, grinning before she drops naked onto the cot again, pulling Luke into her arms. She kisses her hair, her cheeks, her brow, and then, miraculously, her mouth. Apparently, the sex-part being over hasn’t deterred her from wanting to taste Luke’s lips.
They kiss sweet and wet and soft, both of them winded, hands wandering as they catch their breath. Luke feels giddy and lightheaded when she finally falls back onto her pillow and announces, “So, you actually like me.” The words are foreign in her mouth, stick to the roof of it but the way Hanna smiles at her makes it all feel superfluous.
“Wow. I fucked a genius,” she says easily, reaching out and ruffling up Luke’s blonde fringe. “A genius with messed up hair. Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”
But Luke is so pleased with herself. She got to see Hanna Solo’s tits, she got to kiss her, she got to eat her out. Be eaten out by Hanna Solo. It all seems so improbable, a series of outlandish fantasies tacked together with spit and glue but, here she is. Head pillowed on Hanna’s arm, watching the ripple of her throat as she leans back, eyes closed, lazy smile on her lips. And Luke used think she’d never leave Tattooine, that getting away was a pipe dream. But then she’d been stolen away to save the galaxy. Every impossible thing she’s longed for has happened to her, and she wonders, not for the first time, if this is all a dream.
“You sort of played hard to get,” Hanna says then, knocking her from her reverie. “There were a few times there I almost panicked, thought I’d misread you gawking at me all the time. Good thing I’m an expert at keeping a cool head, huh?”
“Good thing,” Luke mumbles distractedly as she settles close, fingers creeping nervously up Hanna’s side. Hanna scoffs, reaches down, and grabs her wrist to deposit her hand onto her chest. “Knock yourself out, kid,” she mumbles, grinning. “You don’t have have to drool over them anymore.”
That’s beside the point, since Luke is fairly certain she will always be drooling over Hanna Solo’s tits. “I wasn’t hard to get,” she mumbles then, voice muffled against Hanna’s neck as she thumbs reverently over her nipple. “I was always right here.”
“You weren’t,” Hanns complains, rolling over, trapping Luke under her arm, kissing her ear so hard and loud it hurts. “But m’glad you are now.”