Work Text:
The Mand’alor looks up from the datapad in front of him at the sound of the door opening, his eyes unfocused due to the hours he’s spent looking through two screens, his visor and the datapad, but he blinks, once, twice, and he sees Shayr’la. She stands just inside the room, hands clasped behind her from just closing the door. She’s wearing one of the dresses he likes, the patterned beautiful and bold; just like her. The sleeves hang off her shoulders and there’s a high slit running up the front so her leg is just visible.
She doesn’t say anything— and nor does he.
But the air grows tense palpable— thick— with...something.
Mand’alor Vizsla pushes away from the table and leans back in his chair. Relaxing, he watches her. He’s always watching her. Since she got back he truly can not take his eyes off her. She is constantly on his mind, consuming his every thought. She has been a rainstorm in the desert of his soul, and she doesn’t even realize that she brought life back to him.
Freshwater for him to drink— to survive— to live .
He wants to tell her. He knows he must. Eventually . But the words always seem to get stuck right there in the back of his throat, they live there with the other emotions he is unable to say.
Shayr’la finally takes a step… and another… and another, until she is standing in front of his spread legs, just barely touching him, the fabric of her dress ghosting along the inside of his knees. The Mand’alor unconsciously scoots down in his chair, his fingers clench around the arm of the chair as he sits there waiting. Waiting for what she decides, what she wants, what she’s going to do.
She obviously wants something. She wouldn’t come here unless she did.
Right?
As she walked to him his visor never left her face, but now that she’s here in front of him he can’t help but admire the rest of her. He drags his eyes down her face, taking in the small uptick of her lips, they continue down her throat and across her shoulders and he wants to follow the path with his hands— his bare hands.
Perhaps she would let him?
Her brown skin seems to glow from the light pouring in from the windows, and as his eyes still travel down her bare shoulders and her chest. He finds himself wanting to wrap his hands around her waist, to pull her into him, to rest his head on her stomach, and breathe her in. He wants to run his hands up and down her sides, and down along her legs, grasp onto her thighs, see how much pressure he would have to use to mark her as his.
He wants to make her feel good, to feel happy— to feel loved.
She knows he’s not paying attention; he got lost somewhere in his own mind or in her. If she were to guess, based on his helmet, he got a little distracted on his way down her body. As she shifts her weight to her other leg the split in her dress widens higher, revealing one of the golden chains delicately wrapped around her thigh. When she decided to wear them she had a specific reason— and it seems to be working.
Shayr’la clears her throat, “Mand’alor Vizsla, Vaabir gar haa'taylir mayen gar guuror?” She has been practicing her Mando’a. He could comment on it if she weren’t sliding into his lap at the present moment. Her hands come up to rest at his shoulders weaving their way around his neck, he still hasn’t touched her. His own hands gripping the armrests tightly.
“Ka’ra…” his voice sounds garbled and strained through his vocoder, and she wonders how wrecked she can make him sound before he finally snaps. She’s made up her mind after everything that has happened so far. After the struggles and the fight and the ‘almosts’, she knows what she wants— him .
She’s settled firmly into his lap now, knees wrapping around his waist, ass resting on the tops of his thighs. The slit in her dress is pushed all the way up to her waist but his vizor is now trained on her face. Her nails are lightly scratching at the base of his neck, sending shivers down his spine and making him want to curl into her— but he still doesn’t move. He’s almost not breathing, his breaths shallow and delayed, as if he were to breathe too deeply the moment would break— would shatter into a million pieces and be scattered to the sky and he could do nothing to get it back.
But that doesn’t happen.
What does happen is Shayr’la leans in impossibly close, her chest brushing against his own, bringing her lips to rest at the side of his helmet, and what she whispers to him finally has him seizing her, “Rejorhaa'ir ni gar copad ni bal gar liser ganar ni.”
“Ni copad gar.” The noise the Mand’alor makes can only be described as a growl, a deep, thick, heavy growl from low in his belly. He wraps his arms around his wife, pulling her in close to him, she lands heavily against the hard outline of his cock with a soft whine. She wonders what it was that got him like this. Was it her dress? The one she knows he loves. Or was it her using his native tongue, the sounds rolling off her lips with such conviction that he knows she must have practice for weeks to get the pronunciation correct— he’ll have to ask her who taught her and then tell them to stop, he wants that privilege. He wants to watch her lips form the letters, wants to see if she makes the same look of concentration that she does when she is studying the halls of her people.
Shayr’la gives an experimental roll of her hips and he pulls her in closer to him, resting his helmet against her chest, “Shayr’la,” the way he whispers her name, softly against her breast has her whining out. His hands wrap around her back, as one wraps around her lower back the other slides along her spine to the base of her skull, Shayr’la growing impatient gives another grind of her hips and he grips her there, tight, tilting her head back and moving his helmet to her now exposed neck.
“Ka’ra— Shayr’la, I want to sink my teeth into your skin, mark it up so the entire oriya knows you are mine .” His strong fingers massage into her neck, and he delights in the moans she makes for him. “You are mine, right Ka’ra?”
“ Yes, Mand’alor. ” It’s a breathless moan of an answer but that’s all either of them need, the Mand’alor wraps her in his arms and quickly stands and unceremoniously lays her down on the table. He looks at her, her hair wild and tight curls spread out across the table, he watches her chest heaving with want and excitement while her legs are spread wide around his own. He can’t help but think how gorgeous she looks laid out like this, just for him— all for him and all he wants to do is touch her soft skin, run his hands up the thickness of her thighs and along with the softness of her stomach, up the valley between her breast and to gently caress her throat and slip a finger into her mouth.
That’s what he wants. And that’s what he tells her.
He steps into her, into her space, into her life, into her soul. She never asked for any of this— and yet she can’t find it in herself to want anything different now that she has this.
The words flowing from his mouth have her reeling— have her thinking— feeling. She arches her back to his hand as it glides up her belly, “Ka’ra, what are you doing to me?” The modulation of his voice crackles at the end of his question, she knows he is straining, trying to remain in control of himself. She can feel him hot and heavy against her thigh and she craves him even more.
She wants him.
Shayr’la looks up to him, up to where the T of his visor follows his hands, how they map out her body, taking in the way her breath hitches when he lightly drags his now bare hands down her arm when did he take his gloves off? He circles around her elbow and then her wrist where he plays with some of the bracelets resting there, “P-please,” she whispers out, catching his attention, his visor snaps up to her face. Her eyes are blown wide with lust and another emotion that neither one of them is certain they want to admit… again.
She’s reaching out to him, clasping his hand and pulling him down on top of her. He goes willingly of course; he now knows he would do anything she asked. So when she says she wants him, that she needs him, he complies.
He brings his helmet down to rest atop her chest, closing his eyes and just listens to her breathing. He still has one hand gripped with hers, moving it up by her head while the other glides down her body, squeezing her thigh and lifting her leg over top his hip he grinds down into her. “Ka’ra...” breathing out his voice crackles with emotion, “Ka’ra, will— will you let me…”
“Fuck me… please,” she finishes for him as she rolls her hips up to meet his trying to seek any friction she can. The hand on her leg slips underneath her dress and slides up the back of her thigh. There’s a sharp inhale when he realizes...she’s not wearing any underwear— she really did come with here for a reason. He can feel the heat radiating from between her legs and he finds himself desiring nothing more than to be buried between them.
Shayr’la lifts her head up slightly, “Mand’alor Vizsla,” pressing a soft kiss to the top of his helmet, “Listen to your wife— take me.”
With a growl of her name, the Mand’alor looks up at her and grinds his canvas-covered cock into her. The slight roughness to it catches on her exposed mound causing a friction that leaves her craving more.
He lets go of her hand and lays it at her heart, feeling the rapid beat of it against his palm— it’s as if there is a hummingbird trapped in a cage, stuck inside her chest, desperate to get out, and the only way to free it is through him. Through the Mand’alor. He slides his hand down from her chest, dragging both her sleeves down her body, exposing her chest fully. He is captivated by the sight of her, spread out on the table just for him, breasts heaving in anticipation, and all he wants to do is wrap his mouth around her nipple and hear what noises he could drag out of her.
But he can’t. Not now— maybe one day — for now, he attempts to take off his shirt, which is futile since he would have to remove his helmet. In an act of frustration he rips it at the collar and tears it off himself. Shayr’la chuckles at his small act of annoyance, her eyes light up in delight as she runs her hands up the planes of his body. The choked off noise and the stillness is enough for her to know how much she is affecting him. She lightly scratches her nails down his stomach, getting a growl of a response out of him, and when she gets to his waistline— when she gets to his waistline — the caress to his hair leading down to the large bulge in his pants finally cracks his resolve.
The Mand’alor grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand. “Shayr’la, if you want me to fuck you,” he leans down over top of her, covering her completely, resting his helmet against her forehead and grinding his cock into her before continuing, “I will do that.” His bare fingertips trace her lips, and when she parts them, he slips two fingers into her mouth.
Fuck.
She gives a good suck and twirls her tongue around them. As he drags them out, they leave her mouth with a wet pop that has him practically vibrating. His hand drifts down her throat and along the valley of her breast, molding his palm over her tit, he finds that they fit perfectly in his hands.
He wonders if his cock would fit perfectly in her as well.
Shayr’la fogs up his visor with every heated breath she takes. The feeling of him massaging her has her arching her back and leaves her pussy throbbing with want. With a squeeze to her breast, his hand travels down to her aching center. “Mand—” She can’t even finish as two of his fingers brush through her wet folds silencing her right away.
“Oh Ka’ra,” he gathers up her slick and draws circles around her sensitive bud, not quite touching but just enough to keep her on edge and wanting more. “You’re so wet for me, dear.” She tugs against his hold on her wrists, more out of desperation than actually wanting to get free from him, but he doesn’t budge. She wasn’t expecting him too. She just needed more … more.
Whatever that was, she couldn’t decide because he was now dragging his fingers down her slit, testing her reaction with a gentle push into her entrance and the moan she lets out as he slides a finger into her is positively sinful. He starts out slow, moving in and out of her, palm resting against her mound. It’s not enough, not filling enough, not fast enough, its a slow torture that has her moving her hips up in search of friction.
And he wants to please his queen… so he gives her what she wants. He adds a second finger into her, and then a third stretching her, making her feel full.
“Shayr’la you feel so good. So, so good dear.” The wet sounds of his fingers pleasuring her mixed with the moans slipping from her lips echo around the room to form a euphony of sounds that only add more heat to their pleasure.
There’s a coil wound tight low in her belly that feels as if it’s going to snap at any moment. At any swipe of his thumb against her clit. At the pressure of his fingers inside her weeping cunt. If he just kept hitting the sweet spot inside her, curl his fingers up, he would ruin her.
But he doesn’t.
He stops just as she’s about to crash into the abyss and he has the audacity to chuckle at her cries of frustration. She’s quickly looking up at him with daggers in her eyes, but they morph into something else as he slips his fingers beneath his helmet to suck his fingers clean.
“Shit—” Shayr’la whispers out.
He’s going to be trouble.
They continue staring at each other. Her brown eyes blown wide with lust stare up into the black T of his visor unknowingly keeping eye contact with him. He releases the hold he had on her wrists and as he adjusts from leaning over top of her she follows suit. Her hands instantly find the ties of his pants, unlacing them and pushing them down, freeing his dick from the tight confines of his pants.
She is instantly mesmerized. He’s long, thick, and uncut— and utterly delectable. Wrapping a hand around him as best as she can, she watches a bead of pre-cum leak out from his cock and, without even thinking, she bends down and licks the tip of him, tasting him as he tasted her.
“Ka’ra... fuck—” The Mand’alor grabs her jaw, fingers brushing into her hairline just behind her ear. His strong grip draws her up to meet him and he knocks his helmet against her forehead. “Let me be in you,” he whispers to her, leaning her back down onto the table. As he does, her arms come to wrap around him, and her nails leave drag marks down his back as she pulls him down with her.
“Let me fuck you like you deserve .”
He’s hot and heavy between her legs, she can feel the length of him as it presses against her cunt. With a growl of frustration he grinds against her, enough to part her lips. And as he glides along her slit, the head of his cock occasionally catches on her clit sending small shivers throughout her body.
“Like you crave .”
The tension quickly builds back up inside her at every rub of his thick head against her clit. His hands roam along her body, consuming every inch of skin she will allow him. He squeezes her tit before moving down and touching over the soft skin of her belly, further bunching up her dress at her middle.
“Like you want .”
His other hand grips the strong muscle of her thigh, hiking it up further along his waist. A calloused hand moves down to where her thigh meets her backside and he lifts her hips up and teases her entrance with the head of his cock. He could easily slip inside of her, give her what she’s asking for, but he needs to hear it one more time.
“Ka’ra, is that what you want? You want me to fill you?”
“ Yes, Mand’alor.”
“ Please .”
With an easy push of his hips he slides into her dripping cunt. Shayr’la lets out a whimper as he bottoms out, feeling so impossibly filled, and full, and good . And he settles there resting inside her for a moment, basking in her warmth and her softness with a hand on her stomach and the other on her ass.
She feels the Mand’alor crowding all around her, consuming her vision, her mind, her heart , her soul — and she wants it all. She wants everything that he is willing to give. And she knows she will give him anything in return.
They haven’t realized that they already have each other’s hearts.
“P-ple—”
He teases her with a small rock of his hips, getting a moan out in response, “Yes, Ka’ra?”
“Were you trying to s-say something?” He stumbles on his words when her walls clench around him, trying to entice him into finally moving, “Were you?”
The Mand’alor moves his hand from where it lays on her stomach to rest on her cunt, thumb rubbing gentle circles on her clit. He can feel the ways she flutters around his length and he gets lost in the sensation.
Lost in her.
Finally , he moves.
She wonders why it took her so long to let this happen. Why did she wait, when now he is splitting her open like this and making her feel complete? And why did she wait, when now he leans his helmet to rest in the crook of her neck, wrapping his arms around her and is making her feel needed? Feel wanted. Loved.
Why did she wait?
“Sh— Shayr’la.” He’s picking up the pace, slamming into her, the slap of skin against skin echoes around the room with every snap of his hips against hers.
Shayr’la writhes beneath him when his hand between her thighs moves faster and the fire continues to build inside her. The Mand’alor’s other hand moves up her stomach and grabs firmly onto her tit, squeezing and rolling one of her nipples with his fingertips, causing her to arch into his palm. His breath grows ragged as she clenches around his cock because of his ministrations, and the noises he makes get caught up in his throat, they become garbled and cracked and are harshly thrown out through his helmet like he has no control over them.
“Gar haa'taylir bid mesh'la guuror ibic, ka’ra.” He croaks out, his voice breaking as he speaks.
Shayr’la feels the mixture of the constant pressure of his hand on her clit, and the sounds that he is making, and the way he has not stopped fucking her into the table, have put her right on the edge of ecstasy. Right on the cusp of all she desires, and what she desires is the Mand’alor.
“Vizsla, fuck— Vizsla make.. make me feel… please.. I want to come .”
She was begging. And whatever the Queen wanted, the Queen got.
Mand’alor Vizsla gives his Queen what she wants, with a few more harsh thrusts her body goes rigid beneath him, a rubber band pulled taut and then finally snapped. Her orgasm ripples through her making her leg shake around his waist, he pulls it in close to him so he can dive deeper into her cunt. Shayr’la grips onto his forearm, the strong muscle straining against her hand, she can’t decide if she is trying to keep him in place or push him away as she quickly becomes overwhelmed.
With a few more hard thrusts the Mand’alor quickly finds his release, groaning out as he comes inside her. And with the warmth flowing through them both he clings to her, helmet resting at her breast as they breath in each other.
An emotion rises to the back of her throat, though it doesn’t spill over and she finds herself choking on it. On the happiness. On the joy. On the ecstasy that she finds flowing her veins. And she never thought she could find this here. On this planet that she was forced to come to. Or with this man she was forced to marry. But she finds herself incandescently happy— here wrapped up in the arms of her husband.
It was something she never saw coming.
“Mesh'la—” If his helmet wasn’t currently resting on her chest she would have missed the quiet whisper of his voice, “Ni draar vercopaanir at cuyir be'chaaj teh gar teh ibic tuur bat.” Clearing his throat he looks up to her, his shiny and black visor staring her down and making her feel seen, “Djarin. My— my name is Din Djarin.”
Shayr’la smiles warmly back at him, whispering out, “Hello Din.”