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The light of the binary sunset dips into a deep black-purple, dotted by stars and the splotchy greens and blues of the galaxy and, the party at the palace is in full swing. Another trade agreement done successfully, and another string pulled taught in his growing network. Things were continuing to work out with only minor flaws in the machinery. It would have been a normal party and other normal day, however, with the arrival of new Mandalorians, some even Mando knew, the party had turned into something Boba could actually enjoy.
He watches from the bar as the band—made of a mix of Mandalorians and hired musicians who knew how and when to play along—pulls more people into the wild dance around the center of the floor. Round and round armored individuals twirl and jump, knowing just when to sidestep or switch partners as to not hit anyone. It’s a dangerous and enchanting game that is perfect for Mandalorians. He’s sure cheers and the stomping of feet could be heard from miles away.
Boba nods to the bartender for another shot, but a framiliar gloved hand catches it mid slide. Mando nods once in greeting to the bartender and then turns his quiet gaze towards him. Boba notes that he’s still acting strange, never once joining in with the other vod or drinking or… anything. He seemed distracted almost constantly since arriving. Barely noticeable, but Boba found that he noticed this particular man more than most.
“I’d like to speak to you privately.” Mando says, just loud enough to hear over the music.
“Whatever you have to say can wait until tomorrow, or can be said right now.” Boba waves his hand, almost hopping for the other to join in the party, so he could see him have that lust for life that thrums inside everyone else that night.
But instead of moving, Mando breaks the seal of his helmet, and in one swift movement takes the shot meant for Boba and sets the glass down on the bar again.
“I think I’d like to fuck you.”
“… Right.” Boba nods curtly and slides off his chair, beckoning the other to follow. “Remind me when you say ‘talk privately’ you mean it.”
“Where are you going.” Mando asks.
“You said ‘you think’ maybe a walk will help you decide.” Boba can’t help but smile as Mando closes the gap between them in a way one could describe as eager. Could. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up yet.
Boba leads him away from the thumping music of the party until all he can hear are his and Mando’s footsteps on the stone floors.
“My room or yours.” Boba asks, breaking the silence.
“I don’t want to be around people anymore.” His voice sounds far away… walking the line between wistful and weary now he doesn’t have to speak over flutes and drums to be heard. It peaks Boba’s notice more that his voice normally does.
“My room it is.”
Boba decides to take the long way to his quarters.
When they’re almost there, “Any rules?”
Theres a thoughtful silence, before “No questions.”
There’s something in Boba that recoils at that, but sure, if Mando wants a one-night stand, then why not. From what he’s seen so far, Mando’s quiet, not for the same reasons that Boba’s quiet, but just because the other simply has nothing to say and doesn’t bother with filling the air with noise. His wants and needs are something for his mind and his mind only, and, he rarely brings others into that sphere. Boba supposes that Mando coming to him is actually a big gesture, and that he should respect the boundaries set.
“No questions. Very well. Anything else?”
Mando stops abruptly and coughs, Boba turns to see a hand wipe something away from the edge of his helm, but doesn’t offer any remark.
Din does, however, say “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Boba considers this for a moment and shrugs. He didn’t really know what he was doing either, in a social sense, at least. He knows how to fuck, but if this is the beginning of a booty-call-esk relationship between two kings, he is just going to take it a step at a time.
“I won’t ask questions, but people sometimes find talking about it, or at least around the topic, helpful.” He offers this advice and starts walking again, debating on whether or not to take another short detour.
They only need to round the corner before Mando speaks again. “I’ve never felt attraction before. Just isn’t who I am. But then I met you and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Pursuing is a good step. Most people don’t even get that far.”
“But what to do afterwards…”
Boba huffs. When he found Fennec, a part of him hated that he found another person with his exact sense of humor, but now he’s found two and he’s never smiled so much in his life. There’s irony in there somewhere.
“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind you fucking me. We can start there and see where it goes.”
“Don’t people usually start with kissing or something.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know what you were doing.”
“I am aware of things… that happen.”
They arrive at Boba’s private quarters. Once sparce, the suit that makes up Boba’s rooms now tell of someone learning to enjoy the finer things in life. Artfully woven tapestries and carpets cover the stone walls and flooring, keeping the warmth this far below the surface, trophies and souvenirs from all around the galaxy line shelves, each with a story that Boba actually likes recalling and, of course, his own space for maintenance, training and relaxing. It is, in his opinion, the perfect crux between kingly extravagance and warrior-esk utilitarian.
Boba leads the way to his bed chamber, not really caring if Mando follows him or takes a moment to look around. Maybe he’ll relax more if he’s aware of his surroundings, Boba thinks, but before he can offer a tour, he hears the telltale hissing of Mando breaking the seal on his helmet right behind him. As Boba turns to face the man, Mando side steps right out of his view. It doesn’t help that it’s dark in his rooms, the only light coming from the entrance. He can make out the shinny reflection from Mando’s armor, but the rest is dark.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t look at me.” Boba had gotten used to the tired, heavy, broken sound of Mando’s voice, but without the modulator, the brunt of his exhaustion sends up red flares.
Boba, not usually one for mulling over his words, tries to pick them carefully. “If you need rest, Mando, take it. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”
Hands wrap around Boba’s upper arms, not tight or entrapping, just grounding. Mando’s hands are shaking, though, and Boba isn’t quite sure what to make of that.
“I need this.” Cold air sends chills down his back and, they only amplify as Mando leans in. “My name is Din… Please call me Din.”
“Din.” He likes the sound of that, and it certainly doesn’t pass him the importance of it being offered to him. “I won’t look at you, and I won’t ask questions. But, I will suggest you strip down to your comfort, and leave the blasters on the table. Live blasters and writhing bodies don’t make for a good match.”
He gets a chuckle out of that one, and the firm grip on him leaves. Boba wastes no time in taking off his armor, vest, padding and all, sliding off his boots and slinging his belt over the armor stand. Without his helmet, he can see a little better, but the chill bites into his skin without the rest of his gear. Something in the room must be off, he should be feeling the heat pooling in his stomach, after all he finally has Mando – Din – in his room, but all he can think about is how cold and large the room feels.
And quiet. Beyond a monotonous hum coming from… somewhere, there’s no other sound. Boba’s about to turn around, just to make sure Din hasn’t snuck off when a pair of arms wrap around the lower half of his body and drag him back towards the bed. A hand instantly gropes the inside of his thigh, dragging up towards his groin. The body pressed up against him is much too cold, but the hand now cupping his crotch are gentle and eager. Boba sighs, and reaches back to pull the lean and muscular body of the hunter closer to him. Dins lips find their way to the base of Boba’s neck, not kissing, but brushing against his skin gently, almost as if teasing. They stay like that for a few minutes, groping and grinding against each other, Din’s breath close to his ears and hands playing with the shape of his cock with much more competence that Boba had given him credit for.
Eventually, Din grows tired of this and plants a soft, wet kiss on his neck before side-stepping around Boba, pushing him back onto the bed and dropping to his knees in almost one smooth movement. The force behind the transition sends welcomed sparks throughout Boba’s system.
Boba leans back, finds a crack in the wall to stare at and sighs as Din pulls aside his black robes. Once his dick is free from fabric, there is a wet mouth on it, wet, sinful and utterly skilled. He can’t help it as a hand grasps the back of Din’s head and pulls him forward, aiding Din as he tries to swallow him whole. A part of him wondered if he was going to have to push the moaning, just to keep Din comfortable and confident during the night, but it becomes clear that it won’t be a problem.
As if this wasn’t impressive enough, Dins hands start to travel. From his thighs, one goes to his balls, groping them much the same as he did his dick, while the other dips lower, thumb finding his hole and rubbing circles around it.
Boba’s hips jerk, but if it causes Din any discomfort, he doesn’t show it. “Fuck, I thought you said you didnt know what you were doing?” If this is just the opening act, then he isn’t going to last long.
Something cool and wet slides along his skin, which usually wouldn’t cause alarm, except it comes with the smell of blood, bile and sweat.
Boba jerks upright and pushes hard on Din to get him off of him. He scans both of their bodies, expecting to see some kind of injury or something, but what he’s met with is much worse.
The person he understands to be Din, The Mandalorian, king in his own right and a man in Boba’s confidence, looks up at him with inverted eyes. Black ink stream down the sides of his face, coming from any available opening and white, softly glowing pupils fix themselves on him. The black is everywhere, engulfing Din’s face and streaked everywhere that he had touched Boba. By all means Mando should be choking on the ichor, but in the dark, Boba can’t even tell if he’s breathing. Ice freezes Boba in his place, he feels that terrible drop sensation as he was falling into the sarlacc pit, something inevitable but utterly terrifying.
“He asked you not to look at us.” Voices, echoing with so many different tones, pitches and timbre all come from him. Boba should be terrified, or scared in some capacity, but the way the phrase is delivered as a simple statement of fact leaves him strangely calm. He does have to remind himself to breathe, however.
“I agreed to have sex with Din. Not whatever you are.” His voice is much more calm than his racing heart. He almost believes that he is taking this well.
More black blood oozes out from Din’s mouth and eyes, it falls to the floor and Boba can feel some of the oily substance on his foot. Its then that Boba remembers a cryptic line the Kryze princess had passed onto him when Din was first dropped off at the Palace for some ‘fresh air’: ‘The Darksaber has changed him.”
Yeah. No shit.
Boba waits for a response, which comes after a lot of animated consideration.
Din, and the others piloting him, stand, leaning into Boba. For his part, Boba tries to stay completely still. Lashing out in this situation, whatever the hell this situation is, wouldn’t help anyone.
“He needs this. And we want him to have it. But when a favored wielder of the darksaber panics, we tend to take over.”
Boba doesn’t break eye contact. “”Panics’? Who the hell are you to make that decision for him? And what the hell do you mean by ‘this’?”
“We want the best for the Mand’alor, as we are the Mand’alore from the past.” The sing-song voices give Boba a chill. In all his years of seeing fucked up and bizarre shit. This takes the cake. Kryze dropped the fucking ball on this one. The coil in his stomach only grows tighter as Din smiles. Soft and sad and utterly wrong with those black and white eyes. “If there’s two things Mandalorians know how to do, it’s how to fight and how to love.” Din – the darksaber – leans in and gives Boba a soft kiss on the cheek. “He’s fought so hard, he knows his body and the strength and limits of his mind. He’s so tired, but without a push he’d spend his days longing for you and never doing a thing to pursue it. As Mand’alor, he should have someone great to raise warriors with.”
He pointedly ignores that last comment. “Maybe I was going to pursue him.”
“We belive that if you were the kind of man to do so, you would have done it by now.”
“If you think you know me so well, you would have realized that I know how to handle myself and a potential partner. If you were smarter you’d also realize that Din can handle himself, he doesn’t need a cop out or someone pulling his strings.”
More black ooze pours from his eyes, if Boba was a kinder man maybe he’d belive the other was crying. Could primordial ghosts cry?
“Yes. Many of us agree. Very well.” The voices say abruptly. “Be kind to him. He needs the rest.”
Boba doesn’t have any time to react to that. Din jerks forward, coughing up wet substances all over his chest and bedsheets. His body heaves and shakes violently and, Boba doesn’t know if touching him will help or hurt, but once again that decision is made for him. Din collapses onto Boba and the sudden weight has them both lying flat.
Through hacking up his lungs and heavy breathing, Din babbles. “I’m Ok. I’m ok. I’m here. It—Helps if I – walk it back—I remember – walking to the – bar. – I remember walking here. I remember walking through the doors—the carpet is red… I like the color red… it reminds me of home. I don’t remember coming in here. It’s so cold.”
Boba lets Din work it out, the processes seeming to help him calm down. His breathing slows, and for a moment Boba thinks the episode has passed, but then Din, all muscle and reflexes, jumps and nearly falls flat on the floor. Without his helm, he’s an open book. Confusion, horror, pleading sorrow and dread all written out on his black-coated frame for anyone to read. He opens his mouth and flounders for something to say before starting to cough again. Clumsy and off balance, he stands from the floor and staggers to the refresher, crashing into the room and immediately throwing up. Boba follows right behind, wanting to make sure he doesn’t fall over or hurt himself further. He also tries to ignore the selfish wispers in his ears that tell him he isn’t worth Din’s attention. He’s seen enough disgusted looks his way to last a lifetime.
It takes a few moments for the water to start running, but once it runs clear Boba soaks two rags and hands one to Din, who’s curled himself up against the wall, still shivering and breathing hard. He uses the other to start wiping off his own skin. The liquid is too oily and much too sticky.
Boba has so many things to ask, to demand answers for, but, he supposes that this is why Din requested no questions. He keeps his mouth shut, only for now. He’ll get the answers from someone eventually, but pushing the man who almost drowned on a desert planet didn’t seem like the right move.
“Would you believe it if I said I’ve delt with worse?”
For that he gets a short burst of manic laughter and more coughing, and then. “No.”
A few shared moments of cleaning lapses in silence, before Boba says, low. “They said you needed this.”
He immediately gets Dins full attention. Now in the light of the refresher, Boba can see the deep bruises underneath Din’s eyes and the gaunt shallows of his cheeks. He’s much too thin, is Boba’s first thought, his eyes are brown, is his second. “They spoke to you?”
Boba nods in the affirmative. “They did. Though I can’t say I fully understood what their goal is.”
Din stares at him, completely at a loss for words, finally, he sighs. “I would tell if you if they knew. The only thing they agree on is that they want the best for Mandalore. Everything else is… chaos.” Din coughs and more blackness leaks out of the corners of his mouth. For a few long moments, Boba thinks that is the end of the conversation, until Din offers up more. “I hear them… All the time. Some are controlling and possessive while others are gentler… more wise than strong. They divide and fight amongst themselves and I…” The far off look in his eyes reminds Boba of shell-shocked soldiers and the horrors of an inescapable war.
“Get the brunt of it.” Boba guesses, the creeping sense of desert-made acid creeping up his legs.
“Yeah. It’s the ink.” He gestures to his ruined clothes and stained face. “Kryze said it’s a product ‘of their internal conflict.’” Din’s voice steadily gets worse as he continues to talk, occasionally wet sounds would cause him to pause. Boba offers him a cup of water from the sink. He holds on to it and takes small sips.
“Can’t you give it to someone else, drop it off somewhere, hell, through it in the pit? Must it be you—”
“Yes.” Din cuts him off, as if he’s already heard this a thousand times. Boba supposes he might have. “It’s too late to slow the effects of the darksaber, it’s already attached to me… I tried to get rid of it, before… I blacked out for a standard day and woke up with someone else’s blood on me and the walls covered in slime, the darksaber in my hand and voices telling me they won’t let me do it again. I must wait for someone – someone who doesn’t know my current state, lest it be dishonorable – to challenge me for it. To death or to yield.” He sips his water some more, the black ooze dripping into it and turning the water a strange translucent color, Din doesn’t seem to mind. He says this so quietly, that Boba almost misses it; “I won’t kill one of my kind.”
Boba hums. Well, this is all kinds of fucked up. Boba grasps for something to say but nothing in his years of bounty hunting or working for the highest bidder has prepared him for someone to actually open up to him. Much less open up about something even more fucked up than the sarlacc pit. But there was something still bothering him.
“You said you knew you came in here… Was this whole thing just influenced by the darksaber?”
Din drinks out of his cup, eyes unable to hide that his thoughts were going just below lightspeed. Finally; “They said ‘I needed this’.” He looks up to the ceiling and shutters. “What I need is a break. My head hurts all the time. I can’t train, I just end up overexerting myself and passing out. I can’t spar… I’ll hurt someone. I can’t sleep. I won’t do spice, or drink. There’s no one I trust besides you to fuck me senseless.” There are tears now, actual, water-based tears welling up in Din’s eyes. “I’m so tired… I’ve felt this way since we first met and they… they can’t let me deal with it myself. So… I don’t fucking know. Yes, I want this, yes, I know I want this. But they want me to have it, they want me to have you and that --- I don’t want that to be all. It’s all. Fuck, Boba.” Din turns and finds his eyes, finally clear of all the black residue. “I’m so tired. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”
Boba sinks down to the floor so that he’s inches away from Din. Using his thumb, he wipes away the salty tears, and after hesitating a moment—checking to see if the other was alright with this—he places his hand on his cheek and let it rest there.
Boba has never seen a man melt so much and so quickly.
“Don’t apologize. You’re not in control here… I won’t try to understand it all… but I have a similar experience… I know how loss of autonomy can… twist and wring you out until nothing’s left.”
“Like you can scream into the stars and no one will ever hear you.” Din says plainly.
“Yeah… yeah.” Then, since he was out of things to say again, “How are you feeling now?”
Din concedes, leaning more into Boba’s palm, a sad smile on his face. “Better. It’s always better after a good, real cry.”
“I do belive your jokes are a sign of trauma.” Boba deadpans. Din’s smile grows, like a little dessert flower growing between the cracks on the canyon. He looks like a ghost of a man, but his eyes are still kind, and his smile is so soft. Its endearing. So much so that Boba can’t help but lean forward and press his forehead to the other’s.
Din gasps, but still breaths in with Boba.
“I… thought you would want me to leave. With the mess I’ve made.”
“I already told you; I’ve handled worse.”
“I still don’t believe you.”
Boba leans back, not missing how Din leans forward a bit to follow him. He shrugs. “That’s not my problem.” Boba braces himself against the wall as he stands with a grunt, his stump of a leg shooting pain up his back. Oh well, a small price to pay. “Get up, wash yourself some more, you still have black shit in your hair. You can use the water shower. I’ll bring a change in clothes… and if you’re still up for something after that let me know. I have an idea.”
Din looks weary but interested. He nods once and struggles to his feet, taking Boba’s offered arm to steady himself with.
Halfway out the door, Boba turns. “Take your time. I don’t know how long you’ve spent here, but Tatooine nights are long ones.”
Din nods, and, as Boba starts removing the stained bedsheets, Din starts talking.
“Once, I spent an entire year here.” He continues, and his voice slips into an easy drone. He doesn’t seem to mind that Boba can’t hear him all the time, as he continues to talk in the shower. Din is not a particularly good storyteller, no embellishes or pretty words. He tells things as fact and goes on chronologically as if he were living the events again. And Boba learns a lot about the man.
He too spent more time with the Tuskens than the city inhabitants and finds them better company. Speaking their language was surprisingly easy as it was closer to Mando’a and his first language than Basic. After Din retrieved Boba’s armor, his speeder bike was ambushed and he was forced to walk the rest of the way, which surprises Boba, reminding him of the care the other had given to his armor. He could have left it. Armor wasn’t light, and with a kid in tow…
Boba could play with those feelings later. He shifts focus back to the task at hand, letting Din talk as much as he wants.
By the time Din opens the door to the refresher, everything is tidied away and clean. Boba tosses a pair of clean clothes to him, taking note of the clear look in Din’s eyes. He seems more awake, more like himself— the kind of person who can play all his cards in order to get a job done. The Din that Boba’s framiliar with.
Din eyes the clothes, running his hands over the smooth fabric, he looks up and tilts his head.
“Dress to your comfort level.” Boba clarifies, “I was planning on giving you a massage, see if that won’t relax you to fall asleep.”
“Just a massage?” Din fires back.
Boba approaches him, placing on hand on his hip and pulling Din forward. “One step at a time, Mandalorian.” He then lightly slaps the side of Din’s leg. “Now move, going to throw your clothes in the wash.” Din huffs a laugh but then walks toward the bed, Boba tries not to stare at the way his hips move. Boba clears his throat. “I only have two scents on me at the moment, ‘Dessert Petrichor’ and ‘Ocean Rain’ but I can get some from another room, if you want?”
He looks out of the refresher doors to see Din lounging on the bed, still naked. Theres a moment when his eyes look gray, but then Din blinks and its back to normal. “Petrichor is fine, thank you.”
Boba stays crouched. “You sure?”
Din lays back, hands resting on his stomach and a calm look on his face. “Yeah… Did you know… That Mandalore never had any oceans? There were many seas, but they were small and mostly contained. Eventually, due to all the wars the planet’s natural systems started to fail. The great trees died, the seas dried up and the winds eroded the mountains away. But it still rains. Not often, but when it does… smell of the earth… is unmatched.” A smile ghosts Din’s lips and for a moment he doesn’t seem as tired.
“I thought you said you’ve never been to Mandalore.” Boba says cautiously.
Din opens his eyes and looks at him, still clear. Still brown. “I havent. But they’ve shown me it. When they’re not fighting and I’m being compliant sometimes they’ll give me things. Visons of the great trees. Tunes to a song forgotten, and itch to play and instrument I’ve never touched. The smell of Mandalore’s earth after the rain.”
“That sounds…”
“Almost nice, right? Sometimes it is. Sometimes I can’t tell were my memories end and theirs begin. It’s disorientating to go from only tasting sulfur to being able to pick out individual spices in a meal. I end up sick more often than not. But I mean… I wasn’t born on Mandalore…”
“So having a connection it is nice.”
“Yeah.”
Boba walks over to the bed with the bottle of oil and a few of his nicer towels. He looks down at Din, who meets his gaze with the most open expression Boba has ever seen, it twists his heart in a way he’s never felt before. “Yeah… I can understand that. Just wish it didn’t come with everything else.”
“They’re quiet right now.” Din’s voice is oh so soft. His hair is still damp, and he can see some droplets on his eyelashes. He beautiful in this moment, Boba couldn’t deny it, in his bed, laid out so neatly with his ankles crossed. A warrior at rest, a man who trusts him completely. Boba can’t help but lean down, caressing his cheek. Boba half expects him to flinch, but instead he lifts his head slightly, parting his lips. And oh, that small invitation was enough. They’re lips meet in a soft, warm, simple kiss.
They part with a sigh, and it takes all the restrain Boba has to not go in for another one. Never mind the way his mouth was wrapped around his cock earlier—that wasn’t really him, this, this was all he wanted. It promised so much more.
Not missing the way he reaches out to him as he parts, Boba walks around to the other side of the bed and climbs on. He also didn’t miss the way Din’s naked body reacts to his gaze. Every part of him is stunning, and Boba couldn’t wait to touch every part of him, and more, if Din is up to it.
“I’d like to start on your back.”
Din repositions himself, and Boba straddles his legs once he settles. Din jumps and twists to look at him.
Boba shrugs and doesn’t both hiding his grin, “Best position to get everywhere.” It is, admittedly a suggestive possession, with him sitting on his thighs and the handfuls of ass right by his crotch, but Boba wasn’t lying. When Din lays down again, Boba says “I know how skin to skin contact can be too much when going without it for so long, if you wish to take a break, tell me.” He pops the oil bottle open, and he’s instantly met with the smell of Tatooine sand soaked with rain. The two sigh simultaneously.
“If it gets too much, I will.” Din hesitates, “But I’m used to hands touching me now.”
Boba pauses rubbing the oil on his hands. “I… don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Probably bad, but lets worry about that later. Where do you want my hands?”
Boba allows the diversion. “Wherever is comfortable, I’ll get to them eventually.”
Before Din replies, Boba pushes his hands down on Din’s lower back and pushes his palms upward, popping his spine in multiple places and drawing out a surprised moan.
Oh, that is a pretty sound. Much better than the void’s voices.
From then on, the silence is only broken by sweet moans, shifts on the bed and eventually, closed mouth kisses that Boba trails along the dips and curves of Din’s warm, oiled body. Din’s body is tense, even as he looks relaxed, but with careful menstruations and occasional instructions to breath deep, the knots come undone and the Mandalorian warrior is pliant under his hands. Out of principle, Boba stays away from Din’s sensitive areas, as much as he wants to rub an oiled thumb around his hole or squeeze his balls just too see how loud Din can get, but his ass is fair game, and he allows himself some self-indulgence, that Din seems to enjoy as well.
When he’s finally exhausted the space before him, Boba guides Din to flip over.
He can’t help the way his eyes immediately land on the other’s erect and leaking cock. It’s a pretty and alluring thing, laying on Din’s stomach like that, and, oh, the way Din’s mouth opens slightly as Boba slides his hands down his sides, practically begging to be occupied in some way. It’s only made better as Boba hovers above him, pausing just before allowing a kiss and the pleading look in Din’s partly glazed over eyes. He can’t deny how his own body is reacting, his hands practically tremble with the need to make him come undone.
Boba pulls away and continues his massage, putting extra attention on Din’s chest, rubbing his nipples until Din is arching up to his touch.
Humming, Boba says with a voice deep in lust, “None of that now, I just spent all this time getting you to relax.”
Din hums in response and reluctantly settles. All the possibilities dances through Boba’s imagination as he continues, making his way down Din’s torso. If he ever found Din in his bed again, or up against a wall, or over a counter or, hell, in his ships pilot seat, Boba could find thousands of ways to pleasure this man. He could listen to his heavy pants and watch his hips writhe beneath him any day.
Finally, finally Boba plants on last chaste kiss on the inside of Din’s left wrist, completing the massage. He could stop now, seeing as Din, gaze steadily fixed on him, is barely keeping his eyes open, but Boba had a feeling that he wouldn’t settle for that. Mandalorians always finished the job, one way or another.
Lips presses against lips again, and Boba settles down next to Din, not minding how the dip in the bed makes him slide toward the other. Din barely reacts, his kisses delayed and body refusing to move out of position. Boba’s hand snakes down to Din’s thigh—Oh, that gets a reaction out of the man, a gasp and a twitch in the member.
“You think I’ve neglected this long enough? Should I release the tension here too?”
A delayed nod later, and Boba finally lets his hand wander up Din’s thighs. He drags a still-oiled finger up the dips in his warrior’s body, dragging it past a sensitive hole and cupping his balls. Din moans in Boba’s ears, having tucked himself against his body. His hand curl into fists on his stomach as Boba slides a finger down the length of his shaft and finally, he grabs the member fully.
It doesn’t take long, some long strokes and rubbing circles into the head and Din’s coming thick warms ropes onto his stomach. He arches ever so slightly towards Boba and he, in turn drags the pleasure out as long as he can, stopping only when the sensitivity becomes too much.
Almost as soon as Boba lets go of him, Din is asleep, limp at his side, mouth slightly agape. As much as Boba wanted to kiss him, he also didn’t want to wake him up. So, grabbing the towels he brought, he wipes the gunk off of Din’s chest with one and then places the clean one on the pillow next to Din, just in case he wakes up with more of the void streaming down his face. As gently as he can, Boba pulls the blankets over both of them and settles down for the night. His straining erection practically begging to be taken care of, but this isn’t about him and frankly, Boba is tired too. He could have gone back up to the party, no doubt people wondering where the host and the Mand’alor had gone, he could have done any number of things during the young night, but he found laying next to the man in his bed took the top spot on his list.
From what Boba saw of the man, Din isn’t the type of person to ask for help when he could be self-sufficient, but he also isn’t a fool and usually accepted offers when given. With the curse of the blade and everything that came with it, Boba doubts Din is going to cave in, no matter how much blood and sulfur the man has to deal with. So, Boba is going to be there for him. Not so much a guiding hand as a convenient hand towel to wash his face with, or a hired artisan who just happened to know how to make Mandalorian flutes… or rare off world spices that just so happen to make the perfect Mandalorian recipes. Everything that Din—or the past Mand’alore—needs, Boba would have, if only to make the other’s life easier.
Boba wakes with the rising of the twin suns. Din sleeps for 16 more hours.