Work Text:
"Mermaid"
"darling it's better
down where it's wetter
take it from me"
- UNDER THE SEA (The Little Mermaid, 1989)
How she found places like this, he had no idea. He figured it was a natural extension of having grown up filthy fucking rich, a natural knowing about certain places in the world, certain impenetrable oases, that only the most elite of the elite were privy to.
He might have resented the peek into such luxury if he’d been given a mere glimpse, but here he was, partaking, and there was nothing filthy about Leia’s wealthy upbringing. It may have been an accidental privilege of adoption, but since the day she could fight, she’d earned a little of the sweeter things ten times over through the blood, sweat, and tears of the war years. The personal suffering she’d wrought to earn the private luxury of her inheritance was embedded in the scars on her skin, and the tension in her tissue.
Han was happy to indulge in remedies for all the exhaustion and stress of all those rough times past.
Remedies that came in the form of secluded tropical jungles surrounded by golden beaches and vibrant leafy fauna, trees thick with bright floral blooms that curled around a lush and peaceful private villa complete with its own sizzling hot water spring. If the searing heat of the natural water wasn’t enough to loosen her muscles, his steady massage was, and Han hadn’t taken his hands off her since she’d found him out here, fresh from her hour alone with a book on the beach.
She’d come up the path in the fading afternoon sun like some unreal water goddess, hair loose all around her shoulders, save for a curiously placed seashell she seemed to have knotted into it to keep it out of her face. She sauntered into the sprawling backyard of the villa, cocked her head at him luxuriating sleepily in the hot water. Noting he wasn’t wearing anything, she stripped her own swimsuit off, pushed her hair back over her shoulders like the waterfall it was, and sank down in the water with him completely naked, her skin salty, sandy, and cool from the ocean.
Half-awake and vaguely dizzy from the sauna, he’d pulled her onto his lap, kissing her neck, the dips of her shoulders, running his hands over her breasts, slipping his hands lower, between her legs, grinning when he found hers already there, and in the flutter of an eyelash he was inside her, the heat of her something different, exquisitely unique from the heat of the water.
He held his hands on her hips, smoothing his palms over her thighs, over her stomach, back to her hips, squeezing and grasping in a practiced, careful massage. Leia pressed on his chest gently, coaxing him to lean back, leaning forward to kiss his collarbones, his chest. She barely moved, and he reveled in it, in just the feel of her, the unhurried desire of it. No hurry, only a hunger for the intimacy.
Her hair drifted like ivy in the water, tangling in his fingers as he moved his hands over her. He shook it off delicately, untwisted it from his fingers, only to find it tripping him up again, and Leia laughed, drawing back to sit up straight, stretching her arms above her head to gather it in her hands thoughtfully. She turned her head, tilting it; he saw the way she’d looped strands of hair around the seashell, tilted its curve up, and tied it in like a headband, holding thick swaths of her hair back.
He blinked at her through drops of water in his lashes, watching sunlight glint off the rivers coating her hair, shimmering in a thin sheen of iridescent sweat and spring water as it rolled off her skin. A stray leaf stuck to her just beneath her breast, dark green against her fair skin, and Han lazily reached for it. Leia turned her head into her elbow, and shook her hair lightly, dousing him with water, flecks of sand – languidly, she untwisted some of her hair, and pulled the decorative shell from it, examining it thoughtfully.
“Treasure,” she hummed, holding it out to him like an offering. “Myths say you can hear the ocean in these.”
Han caught the jagged piece in his palm, turning it over. Peach and white in color, it was a delicate thing, beautifully turned in on itself, snug in his palm and slightly rough around the curves. Han closed his hand over it, letting the edges dig into his palms.
“You part mermaid?” he asked, opening his hand again.
Leia began to thread her fingers through her scalp, gathering hair in the telltale signs of an impending braid. She wriggled her hips slightly and Han caught her waist in his hand with a soft grunt, pressing his fingertips into her stomach. Leia tightened her body around him, pressing her thighs into his, shifting up a little.
“You tell me,” she suggested, feigning innocence. “Does it feel like fins?”
“Feels wet,” Han said, leaning forward to kiss the tops of her breasts.
Leia tilted her head to the side, arching her back to him. She split her hair into three thick strands, beginning to weave it from the top of her head – it was too long, too heavy, and she wanted it out of the way when the waves started – so to speak.
Han drew back slightly, tilted his head up. He watched her hands work, the quick, easy movements filled with years of instinct, studied the way she parted her lips, moved them ever so slightly as she counted tucks and weaves. He grasped her thighs hard, the shell in his palm pressing against one of them, settled her hips down harder on him.
Leia drew in a breath sharply, and let it out slowly, her rhythm faltering. His eyes flicked to her breasts again, and he licked his lips – he’d call her a tease, for braiding her hair like this, naked and dripping, body stretched out and exposed, so enticing, except there was no ground to call her any such thing when he was already inside her, and so he watched; he appreciated.
His hand drifted up, thumb and index finger running over textured surface of the shell.
“Let me try something?” he asked.
Leia nodded.
He dipped his thumb into the smooth underside of the shell, blew on it to cool it off, and then pressed its textured ridge to Leia’s nipple, drawing it slowly back and forth. The friction sent a shiver through her, and she paused, tilting her head further back. Han drew the shell over her again, other hand sliding up her back, resting at the base of her spine.
“Good?”
She gave a slight nod.
“Keep doing it,” she murmured.
Han obliged, focusing his attention on one nipple, and then the other. He stroked with the shell, then followed with a brush if his index finger, a kiss, soft graze of teeth. The more attention he gave, the more Leia’s hips moved, the more strands of hair slipped from her fingers as she rushed through the rest of her braid, twisting and tying her hair messily out of the way.
She shivered again, and Han splashed hot water over her back and shoulders. The atmosphere was humid and cloying, hot and beachy, but it was still chilly out of the water compared to the boiling spring, and the contrast was delicious – when she knotted the end of her hair in a haphazard makeshift bow to hold it, she let her hands fall to Han’s shoulders, pressing down hard.
Han’s hand drifted up and he curled his fingers around the end of the braid, holding onto it lazily. Leia slowed her hips, nails pricking him gently, fixated on brush of that shell, back and forth, back and forth, every ministration of his mouth and the earthy texture against her elevating sensation until she was breathing harder.
She slid her hands behind his neck, threading them into his hair, and pressed herself closer to him, bowing her head, her mouth sliding against his temple.
“Han,” she murmured, her voice a soft, low whine. “Slide it between my legs.”
His hand slowed a little, trapped between them with less room to maneuver. He shifted his head to look up at her, brow lifted. She nodded, sensing his interest, and she stroked his hair, her breath hitching.
Han tugged her braid a little, tacitly asking her to tilt her head back. She did, her lips parting wider, and he slid his hand flat down her stomach, dragging the seashell with him. Leia shuddered, knees digging into the stone underneath him, and Han slowed, teasing. She made a frustrated noise, twisting her hips – Han closed his eyes, holding his breath for a moment.
“Han,” she breathed. “I’m so close, please – “
“You got this hot from a seashell on your nipples?” he asked.
Leia pulled a hand from his hair and reached for his hand, prepared to fight him for the seashell while she balanced on the edge, seconds away from coming, seconds away from losing the elusive feeling, ready to be tipped over either edge –
“Your teeth were involved, too,” she panted, and he almost laughed at how accusatory she sounded, “and you’re, you’re,” she trailed off, rolling her hips, and Han caught his breath again – oh right.
Her fingers picked at his, and he knocked her away, resuming his slow side down her abdomen.
“This is going to make you come?” he asked, the trace of disbelief gone from his voice; now it was a challenge, now he sounded like he was provoking her, baiting her. He leaned forward, kissed her jaw, licking the remnants of ocean salt off her. “You’re going to come as soon,” he slid lower, “as I touch,” lower, “your clit,” he stopped, fingers hovering, “with this,” a very light touch –
“Yes, yes Han – “
“Promise?”
“Han, I’m going…to kill you…”
“Promise?”
“I promise, I –”
“You promise…you promise what?”
Leia gasped, pushing at his hand, catching his eye, her eyes glittering. She smiled at him, knocking his hand into her – Han twisted his fingers, withholding the seashell, brushing his knuckle against her instead.
“I promise I’m going to come,” she managed.
Han twisted his hand again and slid the seashell against her, and she made good, thrashing in his lap. She threw her head back, her teeth slamming together with a loud click, and bowed forward, raking her nails down the side of his neck, digging her hands into his shoulders, shaking, every part of her pulling tight around him and then relaxing – a rough, burning climax that spilled over her like a volcanic gush that spiked her temperature as hot as the water around her, and sounded from her lips in a deluge of moans and incoherent swearing.
Han pressed the seashell against her, sliding it against her harder, driving aftershocks through her, his knuckles turning white against her hips where he held her.
“Han, mmm, yes,” she gasped hoarsely, “easy, easy,” she pleaded softly, “softer,” the pleasure reached a painful intensity; she gasped again, digging her nails into him.
He pulled his hand away and yanked it out of the water, tossing the seashell to the side. It skipped into the warm grass, and Han caught her face in his hands, turning her mouth to his for a long, hard kiss.
"Good girl," he whispered impulsively.
Leia moaned. She tried to catch her breath even amid his kiss, breaking apart to draw in ragged bursts of air, kissing him again, and she pushed herself up on her knees and trembled, bracing her hands behind him on the stones, water cascading off her, and onto him.
Breathing hard, she looked down at him, and Han reached up to shove loose strands of her thick hair back, grinning. She stared down at him, eyes hazy, and he held her gaze, letting her recover – aching for her, aching for his turn. She waited in vain for him to tease her a little more, yet silent he was; he looked at her a moment longer, and then he leaned forward and kissed her breasts, one nipple, and then the other, satisfied with himself.
Knees weak, Leia moved to sit next to him, sinking into the water. She leaned into his side, still catching her breath, the steam rising from the water adding to a delicious, lightheaded feeling.
“Fuck,” she murmured, half to herself. “Hot.”
Han kissed the top of her head roughly, running a hand over her thigh under the water. He nodded.
“So,” he drawled, murmuring in her ear, “we’re taking that home with us,” he informed her.
Leia laughed. His deep voice, low in her ear, ran through her like a second shock, and she turned to him, sliding herself over his lap again, sitting back on his thighs. She pushed strands of hair back again, facing him, skin hot, flushed, satisfied yet still flying high. He slipped a hand under her ass, lifting her.
She leaned in to kiss him, lips parted, tongue dipping into his mouth. He put a hand between her legs, pressed his cock against the inside of her thighs –
“Leia,” he murmured – he ached to slide back inside her, wrap her legs around his waist, turn around – possibilities bloomed hazily in his head – he could take her on the edge of the jacuzzi, take her out on the grass with his knees in the dirt, stay right here, let her ride him -
She nodded, biting his lip, wet skin flush against him, hands running over him under the water. She pushed her hips forward, and drew back, a glint in her eye, switching her attention behind him to the wall, palms leaving his body and scraping along searching for divots, grooves, indications of something more.
His brows went up, he pulled back an inch, inquisitive.
“Jets?” she asked, breathless.
Han lifted a hand and pointed; the control for them was on the opposite side. Leia pushed away from him and floated across in one elegant stroke, shaky fingers moving over the flat control built into the stone. She turned them on, and the water began a lazy wave and bubble. She turned to him and pushed off the wall to swim back; Han stood and caught her in the middle, hoisting her up to his waist.
“Got an amendment to that thing I said earlier,” he said, kissing her jaw, doing his best to hold her up, though she was wet and slippery from the water, and he was dizzy from it, weak from the heat and with desire.
She was bored of the slow, easy waves – she turned the jets on, she upped the stakes, she was in that rare spot she got in sometimes, after she came, he recognized it – times like this, she wanted him to give it to her hard, make her come again right away, wring it out of her until she was speechless and half-conscious.
“Hmm?” she murmured, heels scraping at his back, clinging to him, palm moving roughly over his cock, teasing him.
“Not half mermaid,” he growled, taking a step towards one of the sides, “siren,” he accused – slipped slightly, fell, as far as one could in the buoyance of all the roiling water.
Leia clung to him, and he pushed her to one of the sides, his palm searching the wall this time, trying to find the source of one of the jets she’d turned on, aiming to set himself up for success – she had him so turned on he didn’t trust himself to wait for her a second time.
“’Nother idea,” he grunted, as Leia pulled his hips towards her, sitting again on the submerged bench, her head darting forward towards his hips.
She kissed his abdomen, ravenous, dipped her head, caught her breath to take a mouthful of water and of him, and he stumbled again, his hand flying to the back of her head. He grit his teeth and raked his nails along the side of the tub, almost came as soon as her lips touched him.
“Fuck, Sweetheart,” he moaned.
Leia came up for air, and Han found a water jet smirking.
“Try somethin’?” he said again.
“I think I’m ahead of you on this one,” Leia murmured faintly – her climax had plateaued, yet the afterglow of it didn't simmer, it crashed, violent like waves – she was chasing another, and if that jet hit her just right – while he was inside her.
He caught her hand and showed her where the jet spilled out. She ran her fingers through the steady flow of pounding water, eyeing him through her lashes, and then turned her back to him, planning her knees on the stone. She spread her legs outward, draping herself over the edge, a full-bodied shiver rushing over her when her breasts pressed into the sun-hot stones and the wet ivy that grew in the earthy cracks.
She tensed, stomach tightening, adjusted her position, and the jet hit her right between the legs. She closed her eyes tightly, lost her breath, and then found it again, turning her head to look at Han behind her.
Han opened his mouth, gazing at her. Leia bit her lip and he stumbled forward, weak-kneed; he nudged her forward and she wrenched her head away, bowing it, her back arching.
He rested his palm on her ass, digging his fingertips in, leaned over her to kiss the base of her spine and press rough, biting kisses all over her back, one hand wrapped around her thigh. He moved closer behind her and thrust inside her, enraptured again by that shift from the hot water to the wet heat specific to her – the thought of it was – she was – he bent over her to bite her shoulder, closed his eyes tightly, still.
His movement pushed her harder against the jet; her knees scraped the bench and she gasped, bucking her hips. Han wrapped her braid around his wrist loosely, stroking the edges of it, and Leia arched her back.
“Oh my – oh – God – don’t…stop – “
“Stop?” Han asked sharply, gasping. He straightened, letting go of her hair; his vision stuttered, he froze.
“No!” Leia yelped.
He reared back, and Leia turned to look at him, laughing, an apologetic, exasperated look on her face.
“Don’t, don’t stop,” she managed, her hands scraping at the grass around her. She arched her back again, biting her lip. “Oh, fuck, this feels good,” she moaned, her muscles tightening. “I need you, need you inside me when I come – “
Han resumed his position, his heart racing.
“You’re confusing me, Sweetheart! Don’t yell stop!”
“Fuck me, then, Han!” she pleaded, her palms pressing hard into the ground.
“Speak up,” he teased, laughing a little, calming down. He leaned in. “Speak louder.”
Leia closed her eyes. She swallowed hard, close to losing her ability to speak entirely – that jet, that jet was like – the most intense vibrator she’d ever used, he had to be able to feel it, she felt like her body was clinging to him.
“Intense?” he asked, lowering his voice.
She nodded. She parted her lips, pushing her hips back against him hard, the intensity written all over her face. Han ran his hand over her hair, twisted his fingers into the weave, and Leia nodded again.
“I want you,” she gasped, “to pull it.”
Han shivered, thrilled, gripping her hair tighter.
“How hard?”
Han demonstrated, a gentle tug, and she nodded – good. He made a mental note of the pressure he’d applied, and Leia put her head down, cupping it in her hands so her face wasn’t on the ground.
“Damn, Sweetheart,” Han murmured, his breathing coming in harsh gasps – he barely trusted himself to move.
She shuddered, tossing her head, nodding.
“Han,” she whimpered, “this is – you feel so – I think I’m dying – fuck me while I come, Han - “
"Damn, Sweetheart," he gasped, shocked.
He listened to her, intoxicated. His head spun; he parted his lips. He eased back slowly, focusing his attention on her hips. He held her waist tight in his hand, steady as he could manage so he wouldn’t put too much strain on her knees and stroked into her slow, twice. His thighs hit the back of hers hard, and Leia arched her back, lifting her head.
“Yes!” she cried, flattening her palms in front of her and pushing herself up on her arms.
The angle nearly made his knees buckle. Leia cried out again, muscles tightening on him like a vice. He grabbed her hips and held her against him tightly with one hand, driving her into the side of the tub. His fingers slipped from her hair to her shoulder and he let it fall, scraping at her knuckles, trying to entwine their fingers. He thought just being inside her for that climax finished him off; he sank his teeth into her shoulder, leaned into her heavily, his thighs shaking, and came so hard he couldn't see.
“Leia,” he groaned, voice ragged and husky.
Felt like his heart stopped, felt like he’d blacked out, she was so tight, hot and lush as the water, she’d been so rough and wild in his grip – he blinked, and he was draped over her, staring at bite marks on her shoulder. He felt like he was floating, sinking, drowning – felt like he was part of her – inhaling water off her skin, hot water in his nose and mouth – and then Leia’s arms were around him tightly, holding him – and --
He blinked again, and he was sitting on the bench, half-collapsed in the water, massage jet hammering into his lower back, positions switched around.
Confused, dazed, he reached for her, wildly, and found his arm snaking around her leg; she’d gotten out of the jacuzzi, dangled her legs on either side of him; she was bent over him and breathing hard, her cheek resting on top of his head, bare thighs at his shoulders, naked cunt pressed against the nape of his neck where his hair was knotted and tangled.
Heart pounding, Han rested his hands on her legs, holding them to him while he breathed raggedly. The world spun; the bright colors around him blurred and melted and shone, and he opened his eyes wide, focusing on the steady feel of water against his back until it anchored him back to the moment, back to Leia, still cradling his head, kissing him and stroking her hands back over his hair.
Had he blacked out? That dreamy sensation of drowning – more than just a climax?
“I,” he started. “I?”
“You blacked out,” she confirmed. She laughed shakily. “Too much heat, too much…intense activity.”
Han made a strangled noise in the back of his throat.
“Did I go under?”
“I yanked you up,” she murmured. “You’re easier to move in water.”
She ran her hands down to his chest, pressing her palm to his heart. He swore he felt her heartbeat at the back of his neck, and he twisted a little to catch her eye, swallowing hard. She looked back at him, lifting her hand to run her fingers along his jaw.
“You need to get out of the hot water,” she advised. “I can’t get you all the way out.”
Han nodded. He took a deep breath, and she moved away from him, letting him push himself up on the side. He moved back so he could stretch out, running his hands over his face to wipe excess water away, shaking his hair out. Leia stretched out next to him, naked on the grass, her hair a tangled, matted mess even despite the braid. He drew in heady gulps of air, and fell back, closing his eyes.
Leia aligned herself next to him on her side, pressing her legs together. Her thighs and clit still throbbed, bruised delirious with pleasure; as the tropical sun began work to dry them on the spot, she felt the crack and peel of scrapes on her knees, and the flats of her palms, and she bit her lip, thrilled with it.
Han draped his arm over his eyes, other hand flat on his abdomen. She touched his ribs and his skin jumped under her fingertips; she bent to lick water from little pools around his collar, and he moaned softly, the sound vibrating in the back of his throat.
“Intense,” he said again.
Leia made a soft noise.
“I, I,” she murmured. “I felt like…that climax, it just…went on.”
He nodded, wiping sweat from his eyes.
“Yeah, that was – you – mmm, Leia.“
She nodded, too, licking her lips.
He peered at her from beneath his arm. She burrowed closer to him, a look on her face that was prim, smug, the whole gamut in between, and he smirked at her. She traced his jaw with her fingers again, smiling – her ears were ringing, her mouth was dry, she’d bitten her tongue, she felt like half the ocean was drying on the inside of her thighs – and this was exactly what they’d come here for, escape, paradise, abandon.
She leaned in to kiss him, a softer, gentler kiss.
“Your knees okay?” Han asked.
She shook her head.
“Not even a little.”
“Arms, elbows?”
“Lacerated,” she murmured, teasing. “I think I screamed,” she said faintly. “You were already half conscious, but,” she blushed, her gaze drifting to the fence, covered in dense, flowering vines, surrounding their villa, “I’m sure the neighbors heard me,” she leaned closer, “and one of them recognized me on a walk to the beach yesterday.”
Han smirked again, turning towards her to wrap his arms around her. He shoved his face into her neck, kissing her there, running his hands over every part of her. He relished the thought, selfishly, wantonly; let some vacation neighbor of theirs hear, let them whisper; there were worse things to hear.
“Hmm,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “tell ‘em it was the mermaids.”
Leia cupped his jaw in her hand. She touched her nose to his, pulse easing, a languid sense of calm washing over her with the warm rays of the sun – sweat and fresh water drying on her skin and dripping on to his, the threat of sunburn settling in, but the pull of sleep whispering with temptation.
She pushed him to his back, sat astride him, wincing at an already present, gentle soreness. The sun illuminated her, and Han sighed, the sound so content, so satisfying, that it thrilled her to her core.
“Leia,” he whispered appreciatively, running his hands over her thighs. “Think if I hold that seashell to my ear, I’m just gonna hear you come,” he drawled, “over and over again…” he trailed off, grinning, and she bent to kiss him, her face flushed, eyes gleaming, wet hair tumbling over his shoulders. Fuck me while I come, Han. He breathed in shakily at the memory ringing in his ears.
There was nothing as breathtaking as him, nothing as spellbinding as this; for the rest of her life when she held seashells to her ear, she’d hear not the crashing of ocean waves, but the sound of this, this intensity, the way he loved her, the way she found freedom with him.