a/n: i love double entendres

Hairy Situations

Luke Skywalker had been wandering around the Hoth base growing increasingly frustrated as he looked for Leia – she was the only person who seemed to take him seriously when he wanted to discuss his Jedi aspirations; his strange dreams featuring Ben Kenobi. He often sought her out; she was so very reliable when it came to listening calmly and giving sage council. It actually wasn't that often he couldn't find her, but she was off all duty today, and he'd realized he wasn't really sure what Leia did in her free time – she seemed frightfully reluctant to ever take any.

It was Wedge Antilles who finally took pity on him, after his fourth sweep through the hanger, and sat up from where he lay under his fighter, tinkering with something. With hydrospanners in his mouth, he pointed and mumbled something.

"Huh?" Luke asked.

Wedge spat the tools out, cleared his throat, and kept pointing.

"I said, if you're looking for the Princess, she's on the Falcon."

"Oh," Luke said, turning and following the direction of Luke's hand. He frowned. "Of course she is," he noted.

He rolled his eyes slightly. Wedge grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, before sliding himself back under his fighter to work. Luke shuffled towards the freighter, eyeing the lowered ramp ruefully – he hadn't thought to check there, but he wasn't sure why. It was obvious she'd eventually end up there. Luke usually ended up on the Falcon in his free time, too, but Leia mysteriously ended up there more – and the puzzling thing was, she seemed to do it even in spite of the fact that she always stormed off of it in a mood.

Luke shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. He snorted to himself – the pilots were right, it was just a matter of time. His own infatuation with Leia had started to fade, but left in its place was a strange kind of protectiveness that startled him, and he didn't necessarily think Han was a great match.

Pausing at the ramp for a moment, Luke hopped up a few steps, approaching lazily. Chewie was nowhere to be seen, and the Wookiee was usually the first one visible on the ship. Luke set foot in, rounded the corner, started towards the main hold, and then froze.

"Han!"

The breathy shriek came from the crew cabin, and he whipped around, starting that way.

"Stop moving!"

That was Han's voice.

"Don't be so rough," she chided, her voice squeaking.

"You can take it," retorted the smuggler.

Luke stood lamely in the hall, his mouth open slightly. He heard a grunt, and then Han said.

"Move, the position is the problem."

Luke's eyes widened.

He heard a thud, and then a soft squeal.

"Gentle!"

"The pain'll be over quick if I jet get it over with – "

"It's too stiff for you to just jerk it through!"

"I know what I'm doin', Your Worship."

Luke's mouth fell open more – what the hell was going on in there?

Leia gasped.

"You're not helpin' – relax," Han ordered. "Maybe I should get it wet."

"I thought you'd be good at this," Leia whined breathily. "You have experience – "

"You act like I'm some kind of pro – "

"Well, with all the women you've known, I'm surprised you've never done this before – "

"Oh, I've done it before, honey," Han snapped back smoothly.

Luke flushed – the ramp was down, the door was open, didn't they know that? If the two of them were – surely Leia had more decency than to –

"—I just usually do it to a Wookiee who isn't bitchin' the whole time!"

Wait.

What?

Luke suddenly leapt forward and barged around the corner, bursting into the crew room, his eyes wide. He immediately tripped over one of Han's boots, landed on his knees, and smacked his head on a table. When he looked up, shaking his blurry vision away, Han and Leia were staring at him in mild astonishment.

Han had his arm raised, a hair brush clutched in it; his other hand held a thick swatch of Leia's long hair, lifted away from her back, and towards him. She sat in front of him on a crate, her arms folded, back hunched forward slightly, her heavy jacket abandoned on the bunk.

But other than the fact that it looked like Han might be about to clobber the Princess of Alderaan with a huge Wookie-sized hair brush, nothing as – er, suggestive – as what it had sounded like was going on.

Luke rubbed his head, and winced.

"Uh," he said inarticulately. "What are you guys doing?"

Han snorted, pointing at him with the brush.

"What are you doing?" he retorted, firing the question right back. "Sure got those Jedi gymnastics down pat," he teased.

Luke flushed, using the table to hoist himself up. Muttering, and giving Han a slightly moody look, he recovered quickly.

"Playing dress up?" he asked, nodding at the brush.

Leia blinked at him soulfully.

"My braid fastener is tangled in my hair," she said placidly.

Luke frowned, bemused.

"Okay," he said slowly. "So, how does Han come into that?"

"I was looking for Chewie," Leia answered, a slight growl rising in her throat. "But Chewie's out on patrol. This talking bantha," Leia said, wildly gesturing at Han, "claimed he was a pro at grooming things out of Chewie. He said he could do it."

"I can do it," Han bragged, "if you'd quit whining."

"I'm not whining!"

Han gave Luke a look over her head, and nodded. He mouthed: 'whining!'

"Stop nodding!" Leia said, twisting around to glare at him.

Han stopped, and gave her a lopsided smirk. He shrugged, and lowered the brush, going back to tugging at the awful knot, easing up a bit.

"What got you in a frenzy, kid?" Han asked, shooting a glance at the would-be Jedi.

Luke flushed and reached up to rub his head again, moving his palm over his jaw. He looked pointedly over at a corner.

"Nothing."

"Liar," Leia accused simply.

Luke gave her a look.

"Whose side are you on?" he demanded.

Leia considered him a moment. Then she said:

"Han's."

Luke wrinkled his nose, and leaned against the frame of the entrance.

"Well," he began delicately. "I heard you guys when I came on the ship, and it, uh, didn't sound like brushing hair…was what…you were doing," he said. Lamely, he nodded at Leia. "To her."

Leia blinked, unsuspecting, but Han got it right away. He let out a bark of laughter, his eyes taking on a slightly lascivious glitter.

"So, you thought you'd bust in on us?" Han asked, feigning an indignant tone. "In our private moment?"

Luke shrugged.

"I heard you said you usually did it with Wookiees, and I felt – concerned," he fired back sharply, holding his own.

Han glared at him.

Meanwhile, realization dawned on Leia's face, and she blushed, giving Luke a scandalized look.

"What's the matter with you? The door's open! The ramp is down! You think I'd – "

"Hang on," Han interrupted loudly, abandoning her hair. "You saying if the door was closed, and the ramp was up –

"NO, I'M NOT," Leia interrupted, louder, her cheeks reddening again.

Han put his hands on her shoulders and leaned down by her ear, smirking.

"Give it more than a second's thought, Your Highness," he suggested, giving Luke a smug wink.

Leia twisted away, snatching the brush and smiting Han hard in the shoulder with it. Laughing, he rubbed the place she'd smacked him, holding his hands up. Her long hair, tangled and messy, half-braided, half loose, tumbled down her back as she got up.

"Let me know when Chewie is back," she said imperiously. "He'll do it without this – male – nonsense."

"Chewie's male," Luke said unhelpfully.

Leia glared at him, and turned on her small heel, gathering her coat. Han folded his arms, giving Luke a dry look.

"If you hadn't walked in, who knows where that might have gone?" he joked.

Luke shot a sideways glance at Leia. She threw her hands up.

"Nowhere, Solo!" she insisted.

Luke watched her stride past him, and shrugged, giving an apologetic look to Han.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I really thought I was hearing – "

"Nah, kid," Han said, deadpan, "she'd have been way louder if that was it."

He'd suspected she was still within earshot, and the hairbrush that suddenly came sailing furiously into the room, and collided hard with his chest, confirmed his suspicious. He heard her growl of annoyance she stormed off the ship, and grinned, catching the makeshift missile in his palms.

"Why do you pick on her like that?" Luke asked, exasperated.

Han shrugged.

"'Cause she likes it," he said seriously, and then cracked a winning smile.

Probably true, Luke thought dryly.

"I can't believe she asked you to brush her hair," he said out loud.

"Get the knot out, actually," Han grunted, looking down at the hairbrush. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was kind of enjoying that, kid," he confessed, giving Luke a grumpy look for interrupting.

Luke rolled his eyes.

"Will you two just get on with it?" he griped. "Then maybe the rest of us can get back to overthrowing galactic tyranny."

He turned, deciding to follow Leia and distract her with his musings, and he left Han standing there looking slightly affronted to have been exposed as that hopelessly transparent concerning himself and – her highness.

Luke, as it were, strolled off the Millennium Falcon wondering if Leia knew how fortunate it was that he had overheard them, and not one of the purposefully more impressionable Rogue Squadron – those guys could get a rumor around the galaxy faster than Vader could snap a windpipe.

on a more serious note, though, i love the idea of Han brushing Leia's hair.

-alexandra
story #276