Command Performance

By Justine Graham and Erin Darroch

A/N1: This bit of nonsense is the fault of some lovely Anon (and one or two other cherished readers) who requested a follow-up to our fic "Pillow Talk". For some reason, we were both taken with a very silly idea for Leia's "list" that she mentions in that story. We rattled this out in two days flat, which is the equivalent of point-five past light speed, as far as we're concerned. Please do not expect anything like logic or, you know, redeeming qualities of any kind. Ha! Thanks for all the love and encouragement. (Who says readers' reviews don't inspire new fics!?)

A/N2: You may have read chapter one of this fic already (when it was entitled "Leia's List – Item #1"). That title was a little clunky, we decided to expand the story, so we've renamed it and published it here. If you have already read "Leia's List", you can skip to Chapter Two.

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Han peered into the open 'fresher and then, finding it empty, stepped back and hit the controls to close the door before turning and moving back to the centre of his small cabin. Bracing his hands on his hips, he considered the neatly folded pile of clothes—Leia's clothes—perched on the deck plates near the foot of his curiously stripped-down bunk. He recognized most of the items in the stack. They'd been borrowed from his own locker to augment the princess's meagre wardrobe; enough to get her through the next fifty-five days, anyway. It was the oddest thing, though; he could see at a glance that all of her clothes were there. In the thirty-three days since they'd bolted away from Hoth, he'd become very well acquainted with every garment she possessed and they were all, including the clothes she'd been wearing the last time he'd seen her, now sitting in that small, tidy pile. Wherever it was that Leia was hiding, he mused with interest, she wasn't wearing much.

He swivelled around on his booted heel as he scanned the room once more, and then turned back to face the barren bunk, perplexed. She must have known that he would be following right behind her as soon as his shift was over. He'd said as much not thirty minutes before, when she'd slid out of his lap and retreated from the cockpit in the wake of an exceptionally heated interlude that had left Han's whole body tingling, wanting, burning with desire for her—despite having been the sole focus of her amorous attentions not once, but twice that day already. Their sexual relationship was in its earliest stages, but Han was conscious of how many hours they'd already spent sequestered together in the bunkroom, absorbed in one another and all but ignoring Chewie. After a couple of years of unremitting tension, though, they were finally done with denials, and making up for lost time. Han was pretty sure the big Wook would understand.

Waiting for his friend and co-pilot to arrive and take over for the night watch had felt like the longest thirty minutes of Han's life. Despite his best efforts to distract himself with star charts and the scant galactic news coming through in patchy bursts on the subspace transceiver, his mind kept returning to the memory of Leia, dressed only in sleep shorts and a stretchy thermal top, with his own lucky red socks on her feet, sitting astride him in the captain's chair. Their heavy flirtation throughout the day had led once again to an extended groping session, and then to a series of passionate kisses that had set Han's blood on fire. If Leia hadn't broken away at the critical juncture and taken herself out of reach, he was pretty sure they'd have sealed the deal right then and there. And that, he was equally sure, was something the big Wook would not so easily forgive.

The instant Han had completed giving Chewie a hasty report, he'd made a beeline straight to his quarters, thrumming with anticipation as he pictured what awaited him there: the cabin lights lowered to a subtle glow and Leia curled up in his bunk, adrift in the misty twilight of half-sleep, waiting for him to return and wake her with his kiss, in an ironic parody of the fables he dimly recalled from his childhood. He had to chuckle at that imagery; she was hardly the stereotypical fairytale princess, and he sure as hell wasn't a knight in shining armor. The Falcon was no mighty steed, either—not in her present debilitated state, anyway.

He was contemplating heading back out into the main hold to look for his wandering princess when he heard the muted hiss of the cabin door. He turned with a bright smile already in place, one that quickly turned into a wide-eyed, gaping, slack-jawed stare.

Holy hells.

She stood in the doorway wearing, as he'd anticipated, very little. His hungry eyes devoured her, taking in the sight of her bare feet, so small and vulnerable on the metal deck plates, and then roaming up the shapely contours of her slender legs, before stopping short at the lower hem of the oversized uniform coat that hung on her to mid-thigh. The garment was fastened only at her waist with a single button, Han realized with a gulp, and he could see a tantalizing glimpse of pale skin in the gap between the lapels. His stunned gaze scanned lower once more, mindlessly attempting to penetrate the shadows below the button, to determine if Leia was wearing anything else underneath the heavy grey jacket.

Han's eyes were drawn to the insignia emblazoned above the breast pocket. Wait... was that his Imperial Academy uniform?

He blinked and finally closed his gaping mouth, suddenly conscious of the fact that Leia was eyeing him with some amusement. He'd all but forgotten that damn uniform was even on his ship—or he'd tried to, at least. It was a sorry remnant of a dark time in his life. Why he hadn't jettisoned it out of the airlock a long time ago, along with all of the bitter memories woven into the very fibre of its stiff fabric, he would never know.

Staring at it now, he thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't ditched it. Otherwise, he'd have deprived himself of this incredible sight.

Despite having been tailored to fit his younger, rangier frame, the uniform jacket was still far too big for Leia's petite body. It hung unevenly and sagged across her shoulders, and the sleeves dwarfed her arms, even with the cuffs rolled up as far as they could go. Han stifled a laugh, at the same time as his brain generated a wave of pure lust that careened instantly southward. She looked impossibly tiny and comical—and sexy as hell. She stood now with one hand planted on her hip in an exaggerated coquettish pose, the gap between the lapels widening even further to reveal another glimpse of creamy skin, and the shadowy curve of one firm breast. Han swallowed past the lump in his throat and dragged his eyes away, his gaze coming to rest upon what she held in her other hand.

He furrowed his brow. Was that…. Nah, couldn't be. Or was it?

He cleared his throat, belatedly striving for some semblance of self-possession. "Uh, Princess… mind telling me what—"

Leia took a step inside the cabin, allowing the door to slide shut behind her. She tilted her chin up and then, despite her diminutive height, somehow managed to look down her nose at him in an expression he hadn't seen on her face in a very long time.

"I don't recall giving you permission to speak," she said imperiously, although he could immediately tell she was trying her damndest not to laugh. To Han's amazement, he heard the haughty ring of a Core Worlds accent in her voice, eerily reminiscent of the one employed by many of his old Navy commanders. He stared at her, utterly at a loss for words.

Leia's dark eyes flashed. "And stand at attention when addressing an officer, Private."

Han raised an eyebrow at that, and then let his eyes drift over her from head to toe. "The way you look in that getup, Sweetheart, parts of me are working up to it, believe me."

He watched Leia bite the inside of her cheek as she fought against a smile. She quickly regained her composure, though, and her voice was sharp when she snapped, "You will address me by my rank, soldier."

Han gave himself a mental pinch, just to be sure he wasn't actually sound asleep and in the throes of some incredibly vivid erotic dream. He let his eyes wander over her petite figure once more, drinking in the sight of her, evidently naked except for his uniform coat. He swallowed hard, and fought to stop his face from breaking into a gleeful grin. He had no idea what she was planning next but, whatever it was, he was damn sure gonna play along.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," he drawled, taking a few steps closer. "Permission to speak freely, sir...er...ma'am?"

"Granted."

"What the hell are you doing with Chewie's cacao syrup?" He nodded toward the open jar she held in her hand.

She arched one eyebrow. "That's classified."

"Classified, eh?" He hooked his thumbs in his belt, feigning nonchalance, but his heart was hammering wildly and his mouth had gone dry. Leia in charge, even play-acting the part and wearing that ridiculous uniform, was the stuff of pure fantasy. He couldn't believe his luck.

She gave a curt nod. "Affirmative. Need-to-know basis, only."

"Oh yeah?" he challenged. "Well you need to know that Chewie brought that back all the way from Telos IV. That's his private stash. Your mission's gonna turn ugly real quick if you haven't requisitioned your supplies through the proper channels."

Leia masked a bark of laughter with a little cough, and then took a deep breath. "The supplies are fully authorized."

"He gave it to you?" Han shook his head in disbelief. "He must really like you, Princess. He won't even let me lick the spoon."

The corner of Leia's mouth quirked up as her composure wavered. She recovered with near-seamless perfection, though, clearing her throat and pulling her shoulders back into the stiff-backed posture of a true military commander, while rearranging her delicate features into an expressionless mask convincing enough to make Han's old drill sergeant proud.

"That," she said, "is a gap in your training that I fully intend to correct." There was a hint of mischief in her mockingly stern voice, and her tone was weighted with enough promise to raise the hairs at the back of Han's neck.

"Now," she continued, her body brushing against his in a teasing whisper of contact as she glided around him and moved toward the bunk. She leaned down to place her prize into one of the shallow storage alcoves inset at the foot of the bunk, causing the lower edge of the jacket to slide up the back of her slim legs, and offering Han a tantalizing glimpse of the pale, milky skin at the tops of her thighs. "From here on in," she instructed as she straightened and angled toward him once more, "you need only follow orders." She motioned with one graceful hand toward the stripped-down bunk. "Fall in, soldier."

Though every cell in his body yearned to obey that command without delay, Han forced himself to stand his ground. He was enjoying this game too much to rush it.

"You know the one thing I excelled in at the Academy?" he asked, edging forward until he stood toe-to-toe with her at the side of the bunk, and then angled a challenging gaze down into her defiantly upturned face.

Leia barely skipped a beat. "Analyzing the effect of extreme swagger on aerodynamics?" she intoned drily, arching one fine eyebrow.

His composure nearly cracked at that—she'd always been quick with a comeback—but he summoned his most belligerent expression instead, and slowly shook his head from side to side.

"Close," he told her. "Insubordination."

He saw the flash in her eyes then, and knew that he'd just scored a point of some kind in this little game of hers. She always had enjoyed a challenge, he mused. He gave her a dark look. "In other words," he leaned in close and whispered in her ear. "You're gonna have to make me."

Leia leaned back, tilted her chin up and held his gaze for a long moment. Then, dipping into one of the deep pockets of the dark jacket, she withdrew a small item roughly the length of her hand. Passing it to her opposite palm, she continued to gaze up at Han as her fingers slowly manipulated the object, unfolding and then extending it, until she was holding a slim, flexible wand about as long as her forearm. Han recognized it immediately as the burned-out wireless antenna from the subspace transceiver that they'd replaced earlier that day. He gaped and looked back at Leia's face, his eyes widening.

"That, Private Solo," Leia said, her dark eyes dancing as she tapped the slender rod against her palm, "will be my pleasure."

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