Rating: PG at the moment
Characters: Han/female
Archive: If it's worthy
Summary: Han takes you in off the streets, and promises to train you as a mechanic before sending you on your way.
Note: I knew where this was going at first, but now it has taken on a life of it's own. I'm not even sure it'll be interesting anymore. Oodles and oodles to Kendra for pressing me to post.
Feedback: Oh, yes please. This story was aching to be written; though now I'm not so sure about it. I'd love to know what you guys think!
"No, no, shut it off!" Comes a frantic voice from below you. He climbs the ladder from the ground to the top of the ship in a hurry. He approaches you, his face lit with frustration. You almost flinch, as if he would hit you. You can hear him mumbling Huttese curses, probably at you. You manage a weak smile, and a small "meep" escapes your lips.
"Um, sorry, sir. But it's not my fault. You see, the couplings…" He halts your words with just a look.
"Don't use my excuses, they won't work." He shakes his head, his shaggy hair swaying this way and that with the movement. You watch the strands fall back and forth across his forehead, then look down at the cold metal at your feet, ashamed at your thoughts.
You gulp hard and try to speak. "Captain Solo, I didn't mean for the power to reroute, but if you'll look here, you'll see that the couplings have been damaged."
He listens to you stammer for a moment, then content that you are in fact right, he turns to walk away.
"Han," he says with his back to you. "I've told you to call me Han. Captain Solo, makes me feel old." With that he swings himself over the ladder and heads down out of sight.
`Ugh,' you moan to yourself and kick at the toolbox. The hydrospanner spins loose and topples to the duracrete below. But before you hear it hit with a clang, you hear a much softer thud and a large yell. You cringe and bite your lip. You're definitely bantha poodoo now.
***
Two coldpacs and a harsh lecture later, you're sitting in the main hold, staring at the empty playing table. He's restricted you to the area, claiming that he'll finish the repairs himself. You sulk there for a while before you venture from the bench he restricted you to.
This isn't the first time you've been inside his ship; in fact, hiding in the cargo bay was where he'd found you back on Ord Mantell. This is the first time you've been brave enough to really get a look around, so you decide to snoop. You walk from the main hold to the cargo area. Not finding anything interesting there, you find yourself peeking into the sleeping compartments. You can tell which one he uses. There are clothes strewn about the floor, and numerous tools, and mechanical parts litter the room. But most obvious is the smell that wafts from the room. His scent-a musky, extremely masculine scent. You breathe in a few breaths and close your eyes, imagining the way it must smell to be close to him.
"Wrrooohhhrrrooor!" Chewbacca roars from behind you. You jump three feet into the air.
"Chewie, I was just…" Before you can finish, he hoists you up by your shirt collar and drags you kicking and screaming from the ship.
The wookie plops you down at Han's feet. You struggle to get up, straightening your jumpsuit.
"Found her snooping around, huh?" Han says accusedly.
"Gggrrrooar, ggrrrr, roooaarr."
"You think we should exterminate her? That might be a little harsh, Chewie, but we can consider it." He looms over you as he steps closer.
"I..I..I wasn't snooping," you manage to stammer. "I was just looking around."
"I told you to stay put!"
"Well, you're supposed to be training me," you manage to whine.
"Yes, and you're supposed to listen and learn. I think shocking me earlier, then sending a nice little rainshower of tools onto my head was extremely helpful! Listen, learn and help. So far you haven't done any of those, kid."
"I'm not a kid!" You protest loudly and begin to pout.
He stares at you for another minute then gives up.
"Well, I don't suppose you can cook?"
"What, since I'm a girl, I'm supposed to be able to cook?"
"Alright, alright. Well, I don't either, so help me clean up and we're going out. Chewie, make sure the princess here doesn't get into anything." Han turns and starts to put what he's taken apart back together. He stares at it for a minute, as if he can't figure out which part goes where. You start to open your mouth to help, think twice about it, then turn to Chewie.
You take one look at the huge furball and nod your head.
"I'll just go wait inside." You hear him chuckle, or at least his equivalent. You purposely shuffle your feet loudly as you head up the ramp. You're tired of being treated like a child. Before you realize it, you're pouting. Then you realize there is no one around to utilize its effect on. You huff loudly and head to the refresher.
You frown into the reflective metal in front of you. Scanning your features, you grimace at hollow cheekbones, pale skin dotted with freckles, and your short spiky blonde hair. What had possessed you to cut it short so long ago? Simplicity, that was it. You never knew when your next meal was, let alone a shower. Now as you stared into the mirror, for the first time in your life you wished you were more feminine. Your bright blue eyes betray how you really feel.
You don't feel spunky or charismatic. You feel burned out. Sparky? Wasn't that what Han had called you when you'd first met? Now you feel like a fuse that had long burnt out. You feel a lot older than your 21 years, and the lines on your face convey just that. You scowl at the reflection once more for good measure, then turn the spigot to cold. The water is refreshing on your face, and you approve of the reflection a little more as the grime washes away. You run your fingers through your hair, wetting it just enough to spike it again and dry your hands on an old shirt on the floor. Of course, Han wouldn't have towels or a dryer. You straighten the faded blue coveralls. You think it must have once been a flightsuit, but now it served as your work clothes, and it occurs to you that it's pretty much all you have for clothing anymore.
One more look in the mirror, then you stick your tongue out at yourself.
"Careful, your face will stick that way."
You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. Then you blush at the thought of him spying at you staring at yourself.
"H,h,how long have you been standing there?" You stutter.
"Ah, don't worry, I'm not a Peeping Tom. I just came to wash my hands. Didn't know you were in here." He has no qualms of walking into the small space with you. The man definitely does not know his own sexual magnetism.
He's standing mere inches from you, his height requiring him to bend over slightly to rinse grungy hands in the sink.
The urge to reach out and touch his hardened body is almost unbearable, and you're glad he can't read thoughts like the Jedi you hear all the fables about.
He looks up into the mirror, and directly at you. His eyes seem to burn a hole through you.
"Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me." You race from the refresher before your face can turn a brighter shade of red.
***
You fidget with your trouser legs as the car winds it's way through the guts of Coronet City. You're not sure where it is that he is taking you, but your stomach is already growling at the thought of food. Han had found you barely a week ago, and you had spent most of that time on the trip back to Corellia. He had agreed to train you as you helped with repairs to the Falcon, then you were on your own again. Maybe with some kind of skill, you'd have a better chance at some sort of living. A lowly job scraping out a meager living, was better than living on the streets, that much you knew. As you got older it was harder and harder to melt into the shadows. You may keep your hair short and your clothing humble, but men still threw their long glances at you as you walked down the street. And that was a feeling you long wanted to forget.
You felt much better when you just melted into the shadows. Hunched into the corner of the car, you don't notice Han stop talking with Chewbacca and turn to rest his eyes on you.
"Hey, kid! Snap out of it!" He shouts and slaps you on the arm playfully.
"Ow. I said don't call me kid!" You snap and pout your lips.
He's back to guffawing with the Wookie, but you don't mind. You turn to watch the streets roll by through the tiny, stained transparisteel window. It becomes obvious that you're not headed into the nicer side of the city.
"Where are we going?" You finally muster.
"Only the best swoop bar on Corellia. They've always got a full bottle of Whyren's Reserve for me, and they serve the best womprat filet.
"I don't like womprat," you scowl and say through your teeth. You're not sure why you're being so difficult with him. He did save your ass from the Hutts. You figure it must be the attraction. He unnerves you and it pisses you off. You figure you probably have that in common with him.
"Then you can have nerf soup," Han bites back.
"I don't like meat."
"Look, Sparky, my mouth's been watering for a steak all day. Now shut up about it." Han snaps at you, but instantly looks regretful for the harsh remark. "Look, kid, they'll have something vegetarian, I'm sure." He sees your face soften and adds, "And if not, we'll grab take out of anything you want afterward, my treat. Deal?"
You just half smile and nod. Damn you were being difficult. You really didn't like meat, but you didn't know why you were being so difficult about it.
***
"See, didn't I tell you this was a great place?" Han and the Wookie exit the transport laughing over some shared joke. You step out timidly and stare up at the building in front of you. The building is on the older side, some of the duracrete faded and chipped. A large glowing sign shines above the door, tantalizing the passersby. THE SARLACC PIT. Didn't sound too appetizing to you. You survey the crowd filtering in and out, some of them close to the seediest characters you ever seen. Well, almost, you'd lived in some pretty tough areas.
Which makes you wonder why you're trying to act so lady-like all of a sudden. As if you should be embarrassed or upset that Han would bring you here. He did pick you up off the street after all. It wasn't like you had been immune to all the sleezeballs and the dirty underground of this galaxy before you met him. And you hadn't exactly been a saint to survive. There were plenty of things you didn't tell Han. And they were things you preferred he never know.
"Oh, come on sourpuss, you might find you like this kind of place," Han teases, then heads to the entrance. You shuffle your feet and pout hanging back from the pair. Till you see a shady character ogling you and you rush to catch up to the safety of Han and Chewie.
Your trio is seated in the middle of the dark room, not far from an empty stage. Cantina music wafts from the speakers, but mostly it can't be heard over the din of beings mingling in the smoky air. Most are drinking, some are eating, but you have to admit that they are all smiling, or at least some equivalent of that in their species.
Han is grinning and talking in a hushed tone with the scantily clad waitress. What was it with human men? They always went for twil'eks, something about those long, tapered lekku. You scowl at him across the table but he pretends not to notice.
"Ah, here we go," Han announces as the drinks arrive. A tall frothing drink was set in front of the Wookie, and then two smaller glasses of a dark liquid in front of Han, along with a tall bottle of the same liquid. He looks at you as he lifts one of the glasses and grimaces at the blank expression on your face. "Here." He slides one of the glasses towards you.
"What is this?" You ask with a scrunched up face.
Han sighs then answers you. "It's whiskey, the best around. Whyren's Reserve. Any drinker would know Whyren's. The best around and made right here in Corellia." He finishes the statement with a cocky grin and swigs the glass down and makes a contented, "Aahhh."
"Yes, of course, Whyren's Reserve, it's my favorite drink."
"Yeah, kid, sure," he says condescendingly and pours himself another glass.
"To life. May it be full of…well, whatever you want it to be full of." He fumbles the toast, then adds quickly, "And lots of credits!"
You smell the liquid and fight back a cough at the potent smell. You just smile at Han and drink the harsh liquid down. It was horrible; it felt like fire running down your throat. How could he drink this stuff?
"You ‘kay, kid?"
You follow his lead and slam the glass back on the table and make an ‘aaahhh' sound.
"Give me another," you tell him heartedly. He just laughs his throaty laugh, tossing his head back. And you find yourself wishing you could cause him to toss his head back like that in pleasure.
***
So you'd never drank that much before. You didn't have to tell him that. Somehow you had managed to match him shot for shot. Every time the cruel liquor coursed down your throat you fought your gag reflex. Then you just grinned along with the smuggler and the wookie.
Pretty soon you were hoopin' and hollerin' alongside them at the dancing girls that had taken the stage. So pretty in their velveteen and glitter, hair or lekku cascading down their smooth skin, bosoms heaving with the rhythm, trailing handfuls of long rainbow silks.
In your inebriated stupor you glance down at your own chest and suddenly you don't feel quite so enthusiastic in your cheers. So you fell back on all you knew.
Show the other one up.
Grabbing your newly filled glass from the table, you gulp it down, even while Han is in mid toast. Then you're off to the dance floor. You look back to give Han a wink, but he doesn't even notice.
That just fuels your fire.
You join the troop of girls ranging from human to twi-lek, even a goatal, on stage. You pause to let the sultry music filter in your dazed consciousness. Something resembling dance lessons flitters through your fragmented memory and you begin grinding your hips seductively to the sounds.
You still hear the male calls, and you know they're aimed at you. You turn and face the scruffy faces, beer and sweat stained clothes, the pungent smell of feral need rolling off of them. It mixes with the whiskey sitting uneasily on your stomach and you choke back a gag with a smile.
You reach up and pull the zipper of your worksuit down slowly revealing the creamy soft skin above your breasts, then the sharp contrast of your clean white undertank clinging tightly to your small frame.
The males of all species are really getting into it now, pushing their hard bodies closer and closer to the stage. The female dancers play it up even more by dancing around you in a parade of colorful silks.
You were really starting to enjoy this. The room was spinning in time with the music and you began to twirl your body with it. Every turn brings smiling faces in your field of vision and you just giggle with delight.
But then Han's face is in your view, and he isn't grinning like the others. You shimmy up to him at the edge of the stage and lean down to him, trying to be sexy like the girls he was watching before. But as you lean down to him you just keep falling. You fall right off the stage and clumsily into his arms. He holds you upright in his strong arms and you breathe in his musky scent.
As if you weren't already drunk before.
"Oh, Han," you whisper sweetly, placing his face between the palms of your hands. "Dear, dear, dear, sweet…Han," you slur.
He wasn't smiling.
Hell, you were grinning ear to ear. It seemed this was the happiest moment of your life and you hadn't the foggiest idea why.
Then the whiskey took on a life of its own.
You pulled his face to yours and kissed him. Pressing your alcohol sweetened lips to his heated ones. The room faded away and you were sure that somehow you'd both been transported at lightspeed to the outer reaches of space and now you were just floating in the endless vacuum filled with stars. And you were pleasantly surprised to find that he tasted just as musky as his scent.
Your eyebrows lift as you feel him kiss you back. Or did you imagine that? If you were suddenly floating in the void of space, you could definitely imagine a man kissing you back when he wasn't. But you'd led a dark enough life, with experiences enough to know when a man wanted you. Not want like, ‘hey, let's get a drink' want. But want, like an animalistic need burning deep inside, bursting to taste, to feel.
Han pushes you away and holds you at arm's length by your upper arms, his fingers digging into the soft muscle. His breaths are short and his eyes are wild. You see the hunger, and suddenly you are afraid. How well did you really know this man? Could you push him too far so easily?
Then suddenly he relaxes his grip, and his face softens a measure.
"I can't take you anywhere I guess." He was angry, that you could tell, but there was an underlying humor in his tone.
He throws you up over his shoulder and hauls you from the bar.
***
You're screaming by the time you get to the street so he releases you.
"Fine!" He yells as he flops you down.
It takes you a moment to gain your center of gravity, and you almost take a spill right to the duracrete.
"You're drunk," Han states accusingly.
"I'm fine," you yell, take a step, then throw up over the curb.
This time you don't fight him as he picks you up, this time cradling you, your arms around his neck, head snug in the crook of his neck.
"You vomit on me, you're walking back," he says gruffly and you giggle lightly over your queasy stomach, though you're not sure he was serious or joking.
***
He holds you like that the whole transport ride back to the Falcon. And you're in a dreamy state when he lays you down on the cot and turns to go.
Your hand flies out reflexively and grabs his hand.
"Stay," is the only word you can whisper. You'd felt his touch, tasted his skin, now you needed him close, like an addiction that needed to be fed.
"Look kid, I promised to train you, not get all mushy on you."
You lower your gaze to the cold durasteel deck. This man was impossible. But how could you expect him not to be. He'd led just as tough a life as you, if not more so. And he knew he didn't owe anyone anything. Least of all a grimy street rat like you. Girl or not.
"Hey, now Sparky, don't go looking so glum. It's not that you're not pretty. You're just as pretty as any of those other girls. Any guy would be crazy not to snatch you up. I'm just not that guy." Han suddenly seemed sad. "I'm not that man for anyone." He gazes to the same spot on the floor you'd been looking at and you stare at the top of his head. You memorize the way the hair at his crown swirls counterclockwise then spreads out shaggily in every direction.
You shake your head vehemently and look away at the far wall.
"Get some sleep." Han's heavy voice breaks the awkward silence. He rises from his kneeling position by the cot and walks out the door without another word. The harsh ‘broomph' of the door sliding shut makes you flinch.
Then that uneasy feeling of too much whiskey returns and you squeeze your eyes shut so you won't retch again.
Damn that man. Damn if he wasn't going to be your undoing.
~tbc~
