Chewbacca: Her husband's best friend

The door to 417 sighed open and Leia stepped through, shoulders squared, chin high, every inch the senator ready to stare down whatever horror the Republic had chosen for her.

Then the scent hit her. Warm fur, engine oil, and that unmistakable tang of Wookiee musk that always clung to the Falcon’s cockpit. She halted just past the doorway, the seal hissing shut behind her with a finality that echoed in her chest, her breath coming shallow as the dim lights revealed the massive figure hunched near the window. He shifted, the floor creaking under his weight, broad shoulders rolling as he turned to face her, his shaggy brown fur catching the glow from the city lights outside in soft, rippling highlights.

Chewbacca.

The name crashed through her mind, disbelief mingling with a sharp pang of familiarity that twisted her gut. He towered there at over seven feet, his bandolier slung across his chest like always, but no blaster bow this time, just the simple loincloth draped low around his hips, the fabric straining against the powerful thighs beneath. His blue eyes met hers, wide and conflicted, the long snout twitching as he let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the space.

Leia blinked hard, her mouth going dry, the sterile chill of the facility corridor still clinging to her skin contrasting with the warmth radiating from him. She'd known Chewie for years. He was family, Han's life debt-bound partner, the gentle giant who'd carried her through snowstorms on Hoth. But here, in this **** intimacy, that bond felt warped, tainted by the law's cruel twist. Her hands trembled at her sides, nails pressing into palms as she fought the urge to back away.

Chewbacca let out a series of deep, guttural roars, the sounds rolling like thunder, his massive paws gesturing awkwardly in the air, one claw scratching at his furred chest as if trying to ease some inner turmoil.

"Chewie," she whispered, her voice cracking before she steadied it, stepping forward despite the knot in her stomach. "I can't believe it. Of all the trillions of people. The match has to be wrong. Han's your best friend. He'd kill us both if he knew." The words tumbled out, laced with a desperation she hated hearing in herself, her eyes flicking over his form, noting the way his fur matted slightly with nervous sweat, the powerful muscles shifting under that pelt.

He roared again, louder this time, a mournful edge to the bellow that shook the glass in the window, his head dipping low as he paced a tight circle, the carpet muffling his heavy footfalls but not the low whuff of his breath.

"I know you didn't choose this," Leia said, her tone softening even as revulsion and confusion warred inside her, the air growing thicker with his scent, primal and overwhelming in the confined space. "Neither did I. But the law... Han would understand that, right? He'd have to." She wasn't sure she was even convincing herself, but what else could she say? Betraying him like this, with his closest companion. It was a stab in the back, mingling with an unwelcome curiosity about what lay beneath that fur.

Chewbacca growled softly, a series of short, hesitant barks, one massive hand reaching out tentatively before pulling back, his eyes averted now, staring at the bed with its pristine sheets that suddenly seemed too small for his bulk.

"You're right. Let's take it slow, then." She swallowed, her pulse racing, the room's hum of climate control doing nothing to cool the flush creeping up her neck. "It'll be ok, Chewie." Han's face flickered in her mind, his smirk, his touch, but it blurred against the reality hulking before her.

Chewbacca rumbled low, a mournful sound, then lumbered to the low side table she hadn’t noticed before. A squat bottle of Corellian whiskey sat there, two heavy glasses already poured, amber liquid glinting like liquid fire under the dim light. He lifted one in a paw the size of a dinner plate, the glass looking comically small, and nudged the second toward her. His ears flattened, eyes flicking to her face and away again, ashamed. Leia took the glass, fingers brushing coarse fur, and the contact sent a jolt up her arm. They raised them together. Chewie let out a low murmur, an apology. She answered with a nod, throat burning before the liquor even touched it. The whiskey hit like a turbolaser, scorching down, pooling hot in her stomach and loosening the iron knot behind her sternum. She coughed once, he thumped his chest with a fist in sympathy, then drained his own glass in a single swallow, adam’s apple bobbing under the thick pelt.