Chapter Text
Boba Fett’s body falls to the ground at the Jedi’s feet with a loud thud, and only then does Din feel like he can breathe again.
“Highness…” he gasps out, still struggling to believe his eyes.
He is alive.
Alive!
The Jedi stares at him for a long, long moment.
“How come you’re flying the Falcon?” he finally says, a mixture of bewilderment and strange amusement on his face. “Aren’t you a little short for a smuggler?”
He chuckles, as if to his own private joke, and the picture of him, safe and sound and happy, seems so surreal to Din that he doesn’t trust his visor – he needs to see the Jedi with his own eyes. Without a moment’s hesitation, he tugs off his helmet.
“I’m here to rescue you!”
He must look truly unhinged, with his eyes wild and his hair in utter disarray, because the Jedi stares at him in wide-eyed astonishment for a moment before he starts giggling frantically.
“I– I’m sorry, I– Ugh…” Din bows his head, flustered, and hurriedly puts his helmet back on, his awkward movement accompanied by Luke’s almost hysterical laughter.
No wonder, the idea is indeed nothing if not ludicrous: a Mandalorian who thinks a Jedi may actually need to be rescued. Ridiculous!
Din sighs, mentally smacking his own head for making a fool of himself in front of Luke Skywalker yet again, and takes a careful step towards him, hypnotized by the pale column of his neck peeking out from his Jedi attire while he laughs and laughs, lightly and genuinely, his head thrown back in delight.
“Highness, I…” Din tries, but he has no words to describe what he’s feeling right now – the way every cell in his body aches to reach out and touch him. Make sure he is alright. Make sure he is real – not just a vision, created by his shocked, panicking mind in an attempt to protect him from the devastating truth.
Are you alive? He wants to ask.
“Are you real?” he whispers instead, staring at the Jedi, his eyes huge behind his visor and absolutely terrified to even blink – as if Luke may not actually be there when he opens them again.
“Are you?” The Jedi’s laughter suddenly dies, and he stares back at Din in suspicion.
“Is the Force messing with me again?” he mutters to himself under his breath, frowning in confusion and reaching out with his gloved hand to touch Din and check.
Unthinkingly, Din catches the narrow palm and presses it to his chest – to where, under the layer of cold beskar, his heart is pounding like crazy.
Thump-thump-thump. Fast and erratic.
Luke-Luke-Luke in its every beat.
And Din leans in to him – closer, closer – excruciatingly slowly and carefully as if afraid that the Jedi, his daring and brave Jedi, would just bolt, or shatter to pieces, or even simply disappear into thin air if he moved too suddenly to press their foreheads together in a gesture more intimate than a kiss.
The Geonosian sun rises above their joined hands and backlights their dark silhouettes, giving their heads an illusion of a halo and accentuating the hairbreadth of space still separating their faces. The Force itself seems to be swirling around them in an epic rise of exultant melody. And the time stands still. And the whole world holds its breath to witness the moment of–
A commlink beeps insistently somewhere in the Millennium Falcon, and the moment is broken.
The Jedi huffs, rolling his eyes, probably sensing his sister’s worry in the Force, and hurries to the ship.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” Din calls after him, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
The Jedi stops halfway up the docking ramp and turns around.
“That’s okay. You saved me.” He waves his hand dismissively.
And it’s like that every time: he says Din saved him. But why does it always look like he just graciously allows himself to be saved by Din? As if to humor him.
“I was quite a damsel in distress again, wasn’t I?” The Jedi chuckles, lighthearted, and amused, and beautiful. Beautiful.
And he looks deceptively human now, with his hair so artfully disheveled and his Jedi robes covered with dust of Geonosis, but Din doesn’t let himself be fooled anymore: he knows exactly what otherworldly, awe-inspiring, raw power the Jedi wields. No simple Mandalorian, not even Boba Fett, would have been able to make him kneel in the red dirt. No way.
No way he actually needed Din’s rescue.
The sudden realization makes the little hairs on Din’s nape stand on end.
“You weren’t even fighting back!” He didn’t mean for it to sound like an accusation, but it does anyway, ringing with Din’s inexplicable hurt.
How could he do this? How could he?! Why was he so willing to die? Doesn’t he care about his life at all? Doesn’t he know how precious it is? How much it means to Din? How it would absolutely devastate him, ruin him beyond repair if something happened?
“Why weren’t you fighting back?” Din demands, his voice shaking. Thank the Force for his helmet covering up the treacherous, angry tears glistening in his eyes.
The Jedi looks at him for a long moment.
“Because there are more important things than my life,” he says simply at last. Like it actually explains everything.
“No, there aren’t!” Din objects fervently, so unlike him, and barely restrains himself from grabbing the stupid, reckless Jedi boy and shaking him for good measure to make him kriffing understand…
“Fett said his accomplice had Grogu,” Luke says reluctantly as if knowing he has no other way of making Din drop the subject and shut up already. “I saw it through our bond. Some woman in black holding him, so I knew he wasn’t bluffing.”
And Din’s entire existence just…stops for a moment.
Fennec wasn’t actually in on Boba’s plan. And anyway, Grogu isn’t with her anymore. He is with Peli. He is safe. Din made sure of it before leaving Chandrila. He is okay, but this… This is not okay.
“You…You were willing to sacrifice yourself…” Din croaks in a strangled voice, unable to take in even a single breath.
And the Jedi just…shrugs.
Like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just offer his life to a revenge-driven maniac to save Din’s son.
He just kriffing shrugs!
“I’m gonna take that call in my cabin. Set the course for Chandrila, will you?”
*****
The Millennium Falcon is not exactly a smooth and steady ride, and Din tells himself that that is the only reason his hands are shaking when he presses his palms and his beskar-covered forehead to the closed door of Luke’s cabin.
Why is there always a barrier between them? Of steel and beskar. Of Luke’s Jedi serenity and Din’s own stupidity. Why? Why?
But then again, what else did he expect? A repressed Mandalorian in love with an unattainable Jedi. How ridiculous is that? It’s not a love story anyone will ever tell. There will be no legends written about them, no songs sung on distant worlds. No Din and Luke. No raising Grogu together. No happily ever after.
Kriff!
Din barely manages to restrain himself from banging his head against the door. Repeatedly. Over and over and over again – until his ears ring from the reverberating metallic sound inside his helmet and until his stupid, stupid brain finally gets the idea: he can never ever have what he desires the most. No Luke Skywalker for him. Din will never even get that one night everyone else got. And Din’s unspoken, unbidden I love you will always stay unrequited – even if one day, Din, by some miracle, no less, finds the courage to say it. Not that there is an actual need for that. Din has been so painfully obvious about his obsession with the Jedi as it is, hasn’t he?
Force, he’s been making such a fool of himself all this time!
Din squeezes his eyes shut in complete embarrassment, but still cannot make himself step away and finally stop clinging to the Jedi’s door like the lovesick idiot he is.
And even if he could, what would it change anyway? It’s not like he could embarrass himself even more than he already has, right?
Wrong.
Because the Jedi’s amused voice calls out to him from inside the cabin.
“You do know I can feel you behind that door, right, Mandalorian? I always could.”
The bottom drops out of Din’s stomach.
He always could.
Of-kriffing-course he could!
Probably ever since that first time he caught Din peeping at his lightsaber training session.
How could Din possibly forget about that? How?! And…
And all those times Din thought he was watching the Jedi secretly… he actually… He actually knew?!
Oh, stars!
The wave of mortification that washes over Din is so hot that it threatens to boil him alive inside his beskar armor and then maybe even melt the armor itself, and Din silently wonders if it’s possible to die of sheer humiliation.
Turns out, it’s not. Because when the blasted door slides open, Din is still not dead.
He wishes he was though.
*****
Luke throws one quick glance at the Mandalorian and rolls his eyes.
Why does the man always look like he is about to pass out whenever he is in his presence?
How can he still be so deliciously vulnerable, despite being covered in beskar from head to toe?
It should be illegal, really. It makes Luke want to do disastrous things to him. Pluck him out of his metal shell – so soft and tender – and leave him bare and exposed.
Defenseless.
At his mercy.
“Come in, Mandalorian,” Luke says, and the man stumbles inside the cabin as though Luke’s words have yanked an invisible leash.
Luke can’t actually see the Mandalorian’s eyes through his visor, but somehow, he just knows that the man’s gaze is averted in shame.
Now that just won’t do.
“Look at me,” Luke demands immediately. “Isn’t that what you wanted? To be on this side of the door, inside my room? To be allowed to look instead of just peeping at keyholes?”
Luke tugs at the flap of his collar, exposing his neck. His hair is still a little damp from the shower, and there are droplets of water sliding down his throat in the most provocative way.
Luke knows that.
Luke likes that.
He is reveling the fact that under that helmet, the Mandalorian is dying of thirst right now, probably praying to all the gods he knows to allow him to follow those wet trails with his lips.
Although, perhaps, there are no gods after all – just him, Luke Skywalker – the only higher power Din Djarin is willing to beg for mercy because…
“Highness, please …” A broken whisper, and he hangs his head, lowering himself to his knees at Luke’s feet. Just like Luke has always known he would.
He is so perfectly docile and already broken, even though Luke has just barely started playing with him.
Oh, this is going to be so much fun!
“Please what, Mandalorian?” he lifts his eyebrow, and somewhere under his helmet, Din Djarin chokes on his breath. He sounds like he is dying in there, under all that beskar. Under the weight of his legacy. A proud Mandalorian – on his knees before a Jedi. What does it take him to be like this? To allow himself to be like this? Surely, this isn’t the Way? Mandalorians don’t beg. They would never–
“Please, Your Highness, let me pleasure you. Please...” the Mandalorian coaxes despite everything, breathless with reverence and sounding almost delirious in his eagerness. “I’ll worship you. You know I will. I’ll make you feel so good.” He is looking up at Luke, wringing his gloved hands in distress, and even though Luke cannot see his face, he knows exactly how desperate his eyes are. “Please, just this once, please! You won’t have to do anything. Just– Just lie back and relax. I’ll take care of your every need. Anything for your pleasure, Your Highness. Please! I’m begging you…”
“Yes, you are, ” Luke hums, somewhat astonished and still not quite believing his ears. He never thought the Mandalorian actually would grovel at his feet like that. And it sounds like he knows exactly what Luke needs, too.
Will he be able to deliver on his promises, though? Or will he be just like everybody else – coming in his pants like a hormonal teenager at the first touch of Luke’s Force presence, muddling the Force with his satisfaction and ruining all the fun for Luke?
No one has been able to satisfy him completely before (not with at least the three rounds in a row he usually needs to wear himself out), but maybe, just maybe, this tough and stoic Mandalorian can do it. He does look like he has quite the stamina, doesn’t he?
But Luke knows he needs to be realistic here: impossibly patient as he is, the Mandalorian is no different from any other man, and he will probably react in the same way, so it’s better not to get his hopes up. Luke understands all that, and yet… He wants the Mandalorian to be different. He prays to the Force that he is. And he has a good feeling about this.
*****
At this point, Din doesn’t even register what it is he’s saying. The words just keep tumbling down from his lips in an endless torrent of incoherent babbling.
“Please, Your Highness… I know you are a Jedi, and you are the one to always take care of everyone and everything. And I know– I know you don’t need anyone to take care of you, but… If you would just let me… Please, please!”
The Jedi looks down at him for a long moment as if contemplating Din’s ardent plea with careful attention. Then he laughs quietly as he lowers himself onto the bed and sprawls out on it, spreading his legs wantonly, throwing his head back and luxuriating in the feeling of Din’s hungry stare gliding along his body.
“Undress me.”
Still not quite believing his ears, Din scrambles to obey, even though his hands are shaking like crazy while they pull at the unyielding buttons and the black fabric of Luke’s Jedi attire. Faster, faster he wants to go – to touch, to caress and kiss that snow-white skin underneath – but, remembering the poor dress, this time, he goes slowly. Slowly. Carefully. As if undressing a doll made of the finest porcelain. Because Luke’s skin looks like it could bruise easily. Because he knows his clumsy hands must not leave a single mark on its silk. Because little princes like Luke Skywalker are not made for rough brutes like Din Djarin.
Suddenly irritated with himself, Din angrily yanks at his own cape wrapped around his neck and the strap holding his chest plate in place. The blasted armor must have decided to kriffing suffocate him.
Oh, how badly he wants to take it off!
He yanks at the buckle again, but the Jedi bats his hand away.
“No, the armor stays on,” he says firmly as if having read Din’s agonizing mind. “You’re gonna beg me to take it off of you, Mandalorian.”
And Din knows he is. If anything, he is ready to beg right kriffing now. He is so touch starved he is ready to give up his armor entirely to feel just one caress of the Jedi’s hand on his naked skin.
But this isn’t about what he wants, so…
“Yes, Your Highness. As you wish.” He bows his head and goes back to his task of undressing the Jedi, kneeling in front of him to remove his ridiculously expensive boots.
As soon as Luke’s body has been freed of clothes, and he lies on the bed in a careless, relaxed position – naked and gorgeous and delectable – Din immediately looms over him, simply unable to stay away. The Jedi looks so young, so small, so deceptively innocent. And Din knows those things should not sound appealing, but they do. They do, blast it! They make his mouth water like crazy at the outright sinful sight before him.
My sweet boy, his lips yearn to whisper while pressing little, almost chaste kisses to his adorably flushed cheeks.
But his helmet is still on, and he is virtually locked inside his own armor, so he can’t touch even an inch of Luke’s naked skin, no matter how badly he craves to – no matter how his hunger is tearing him apart from the inside, clawing its way out and probably leaving long, deep scratches on the beskar.
And now Din knows exactly why all those pilots came so quickly. It’s because even when the Jedi isn’t touching him, his Force presence is. It feels like he’s been thrown into an exploding core of a supernova. It’s like his entire being was blown up to particles, then glued back together with lava and sprinkled with stardust.
Din has never experienced anything like this before. Not even remotely. His life will never be the same again. And the Jedi hasn’t even kissed him yet. And maybe he shouldn’t. Because Din thinks he might actually die from that alone. But what a way to go!
So he begs, trembling all over with awe and desire, “Please allow me to at least take off my helmet and kiss you, Highness.”
“I might if you stop calling me that,” the Jedi chuckles, his breath burning Din’s throat and sending a wave of scalding hot pleasure down his spine.
“What–” Din’s voice gets stuck in his heaving chest. “What do you want me to call you?”
The Jedi lift his brows, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What do you call me in your head, Mandalorian?”
A rattling breath rips its way out of Din’s throat, and he tries to avert his gaze, blurry with tears of embarrassment, but the Jedi’s sharp gaze doesn’t let him.
He knows, doesn’t he?
“Tell me,” he demands anyway, then reaches up and pulls at Din’s neck, making him shudder and groan as he obediently leans closer.
“I–” Din licks his lips nervously, struggling to utter even a single sound, but the Jedi is already pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his helmet’s cheek, and that breaks Din beyond repair.
“I… You are my little prince. My darling. My dear. My sweetheart. I want to spoil you so badly, so badly… ” Din pleads breathlessly as he bends his head down, reverently pressing his beskar-covered forehead to Luke’s. “I’ll cherish you. I’ll pamper you. I’ll do whatever you want. Anything,” he promises solemnly, almost shaking with desire to finally serve his Jedi right.
He is struggling to believe what’s happening and afraid to even breathe, thinking it might dispel the beautiful illusion. “I’ll take care of your every need. Please allow me…my sweet Jedi boy.”
“Mhm…” The Jedi bites his lip, closing his eyes for a moment, before he nods. “Okay. But there are some rules.”
“You can tell me to stop at any time, Highness, and I will,” Din swears at once, slipping back to the familiar form of address, his face solemn under his helmet. But the Jedi only huffs in amusement at that.
“But of course you will, Mandalorian,” he chuckles darkly somewhere into Din’s neck before biting into it, making Din shudder and leak precome all over his pants. “You will do whatever I say whenever I say it.”
“Yes, yes!” Din gasps helplessly, fighting the urge to grab the Jedi and just lick him all over. His wills his hands to stay where they are, though. He won’t do anything without permission. Without orders.
“What are the rules then, Your Highness?”
The Jedi grins.
“I think you already know. After all, you have been watching me and my hapless lovers for quite some time, haven’t you?”
Din flushes bright red at the reminder of his undignified behavior, but at the same time, a hot wave of jealousy rises in his chest.
Don’t talk to me about them! He wants to shout.
“I… I’m…” he chokes on his words of regret and apology instead, and the Jedi mercifully nods in understanding.
“I’m very hard to satisfy. I’m gonna need a few rounds. It could take… Well,” Luke wets his lips. “It could take some time. But you must not come until I allow you to. If you do, I’ll feel it in the Force, and we’ll stop and never speak of this again. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Din nods eagerly. He can do this. He has been practicing for so long, after all. “Yes, please!”
“Good.” The Jedi’s face lights up with a satisfied smile, and Din’s entire being sings, vibrating with happiness.
He will be good. He will be useful. Finally. Finally!
The Jedi reaches up to run his finger along the sharp line of Din’s beskar-covered cheek.
“Look at you, Mandalorian,” he murmurs in a husky voice, sending a wave of goosebumps all over Din’s body. “So big and strong. So tough, so masculine. So…desperate you can barely breathe. Shaking with desire, but still so wonderfully obedient,” he marvels.
“Yes, only for you,” Din whispers, not trusting his voice not to break around his most favorite words in the universe, “my prince … ”
The Jedi boy bites his lip, looking up at Din from under his lashes, so small and sweet under him.
“I’m actually your king. The Mand'alor, remember?”
Din gulps, his pupils widening dramatically.
Luke’s grin widens too.
“Worship me accordingly, Mandalorian.”
*****
Din is dying inside his helmet. It isn’t much better than when there was a thick wooden door of the Jedi Temple between them, when Din could look but couldn’t touch, couldn’t kiss, couldn’t lick the Jedi all over.
Din feels trapped. He feels caged inside his own armor, mentally banging against the walls of beskar surrounding him – over and over and over again – but unable to get through.
Only the Jedi can save him. Only the Jedi can take off his helmet and set him free. But the Jedi only laughs quietly, tipping his head back against the pillows, and lifts his naked torso in a perfect arch to press it up against the cold metal of Din’s helmet as it moves along the hot skin of his chest and stomach in a tantalizingly slow glide.
“Ah! Ahh, yes …” he exhales between shuddering breaths when Din moves lower. His naked thighs squeeze Din’s helmet on both sides, holding his head firmly in place – inches above his beautiful leaking cock – and not letting him move. “Oh, Mando…”
Din squeezes his eyes shut and tries to swallow around a mouthful of saliva, but too late – it is already dripping from his opened, desperately panting lips and leaking from under his helmet all over Luke’s crotch.
“Please… ” is all Din can squeeze out of his heaving chest, and he only hopes that his desperation is strong enough to reach the Jedi in that Force of his. Maybe the Force will tell him what Din can’t. Maybe the Force will show him just how badly Din yearns for him. Maybe…
“No,” the Jedi breathes out, squeezing Din’s helmet harder between his thighs and pushing his groin up. “No, I told you, the helmet stays on. I wanna come all over that polished Mandalorian steel.” His flushed, wet cock slides along the cheek of Din’s helmet, and Din howls like a wild beast. The soft fabric of Luke’s sheet tears like paper under his fingers where they dig into it with the desperation of a dying man.
“Yes! Please, please…” he chokes on his pleas, blindly running his hands up and down Luke’s thighs as if encouraging him to rub harder against the metal of his helmet. “Yes, darling… Just like that… Paint my beskar with your come. Mark it as yours. I want to wear it… I want–”
He is breathless with desire. Delirious with lust. He could never even imagine anything like this. He has never been so aroused in his entire life. He thinks he is about to pass out from the lack of oxygen inside his helmet. He feels lightheaded already. He pants wetly, little moans slipping from his lips with every shuddering exhale. The edge of pleasure is so, so close. He is so desperate to fall over it, but… Luke’s satisfaction is more important. It’s the only thing that matters.
“Come on, my little Jedi prince… Come all over your Mandalorian’s helmet…”
“Nnghn…” Luke whines and bites his lower lip as he arches his back and pushes his hips up into Din’s face, smearing precome all over the beskar. “This feels so good… I’ve always wanted to…dirty up that…that shining armor of yours. Make it all filthy… Make you all mine…”
Din groans, as if in pain, rubbing the smooth metal of his helmet against the Jedi’s leaking cock even harder.
“I am all yours, darling boy…” he promises in a hoarse, broken voice, grabbing Luke’s hips and holding them up, making it easier for him to push into his face.
“You’ve defeated me. Conquered me. Now claim me, my little General…”
Luke’s urgent rhythm stutters.
Jedi don’t have possessions, Luke’s dispassionate voice from long ago reminds Din, reverberating in his head with a warning, but the effect it has is completely opposite of the intended.
“I’m yours. I’m all yours…” Din chants, over and over again, letting his metallic cheek glide up and down the Jedi’s length. “You own me, Master Jedi.”
“Ahh!” Luke shudders at the words, his eyes snapping wide open – shocked that Din has finally gotten his title right. The Force zaps Din’s body with sharp, electric pleasure, and just a moment later – pearly whiteness spills all over Din’s visor, obscuring his sight.
Not that he could see anything anyway – not with the world spinning around him as he gasps for air, dizzy and overwhelmed with pleasure and relief.
“Thank you, thank you…” his lips are chanting unconsciously while his mind is trying to process the fact that it is Luke Skywalker’s come that’s dripping from his helmet onto the torn sheet.
“Look what you made me do, Mando…” the Jedi exhales with a breathless chuckle. “You’re all filthy now. I like that…”
Din gasps in astonishment, and Luke laughs quietly, pushing him off himself and back onto the floor. He sits up on the edge of the bed and runs his gloved fingers through the mess on Din’s helmet. A smile, coy but strangely dangerous at the same time, tugs at the corners of his lips as he allows mercifully, “Take off your helmet for me, Mandalorian.”
Din chokes on his breath, stunned.
Really?
He thought he would die inside it before the Jedi gave him permission to take it off.
He scrambles to pull the stained metal off with clumsy, trembling fingers, revealing his flushed face and sweat-soaked hair to the Jedi’s laughing gaze.
His lips involuntarily part around a moan of relief, and in the next moment, there are gloved fingers covered with come pressing into his invitingly opened mouth.
“Clean me up,” the Jedi orders, but there is no need for that. Din has already sucked those long, delicate fingers into his mouth with a hungry growl. He swirls his tongue, and swallows, and moans around them with a completely blissed-out expression on his face, his head tilted back and his eyes closed in pure, undiluted delight: he got to taste Luke Skywalker’s pleasure. The pleasure he, Din Djarin, brought him. The magnitude of it feels enormous – like he has finally completed his destiny.
But then Luke withdraws his fingers, and Din is left helplessly gasping at the sudden emptiness of his mouth. He needs to busy it with something again. Right now. He needs Luke to use it for his pleasure. He needs…
Din squeezes his eyes shut, lowering his head. He doesn’t dare lift his gaze, too dark and greedy with lust.
“You will look at me,” the Jedi orders immediately, burying his gloved fingers in Din’s damp, disheveled curls and yanking him up for a kiss, but stopping just a hairbreadth away from Din’s hungrily parted lips.
Din whines.
“Please, please … ” he begs, almost on the verge of hysteria, like a man dying of thirst, cruelly stopped inches away from a cool spring.
He wants to chase Luke’s lips – more than anything in the world – but he stays still, obediently kneeling on the floor between the Jedi’s spread legs and only looking up at him with pleading eyes.
The Jedi hums in approval, and Din groans in pleasure, letting him tug his head back and make his neck arch, the firm grip on his hair telling Din what he’s known from the start: the Jedi is the one in control.
His breath on Din’s neck feels like it can melt his skin. And his brain almost short-circuits with every word the Jedi speaks then – a series of orders.
“Kiss my hands.”
“Kiss my neck.”
“Kiss me.”
And Din has never been this eager to obey in his entire life.
*****
The Mandalorian’s lips explore Luke’s body with some strange, chest-tightening reverence as if trying to drink the milky skin and quench that unbearable thirst inside. Luke has allowed him to take off his gloves, and now, his fingers are trembling slightly, roaming over his body without any distinct pattern – just touching everywhere they can. And his eyes… His eyes are dark, so dark with lust, but still huge with disbelief like he cannot truly comprehend that he is actually allowed to do this.
Luke laughs quietly, letting his head fall back onto the pillows. He tangles his fingers into the Mandalorian’s tousled curls and tugs, guiding him wherever he wants him.
His wet, open-mouthed kisses feel scalding hot on Luke’s skin. And his soft moans of pleasure are vibrating against Luke’s body as the man worships it with his frantic, almost manic determination.
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” He presses the words into Luke’s skin like an endless litany of prayer. “Thank you for letting me touch you like this. Thank you, thank you, thank you…”
He seems possessed – feverish with his desire and delirious with his devotion.
“You’re so perfect, perfect, perfect…” he chants, looking into Luke’s eyes ingratiatingly – as if begging for something.
And Luke needs him to stop talking. Right kriffing now.
This whole thing… It is dangerous. There should be no attachment. Just like there is no passion. Except… There already is passion, isn’t there? So much passion…
Luke lets out a long-suffering sigh and presses his palm against the Mandalorian’s chest to push him away a little so that he can get up.
“Kneel on the floor for me.”
And the man almost falls off the bed in his urgent haste to comply.
“Yes, my prince! Thank you, thank you!” His eyes are full of stars as he looks up at Luke from where he has sunk to his knees on the floor. His hands rise as if wishing to run up and down Luke’s sides in a reverent, worshipful caress, but immediately freeze in an aborted motion just a few inches away from his skin, not daring to touch.
“You are my sunshine. I adore you,” the Mandalorian murmurs, looking completely awestruck all of a sudden. “I–”
Luke’s kiss, hungry and demanding, interrupts the agony of his confession, and the Mandalorian just melts into it completely, letting Luke drink his very soul from his lips.
So perfectly submissive and respectful. Luke almost whines with how good this deference feels, completely suffusing the Force around the Mandalorian and fawning on Luke like a faithful dog.
Luke has been with a lot of men who desired to give him gratification, and it was nice and all, but never – not once – has it felt this good. All the attention Luke’s previous lovers lavished on him pales in comparison to Din Djarin’s blind devotion. So is it really Luke’s fault that he cannot help but unceremoniously grab a fistful of the man’s hair and push his head down, between his legs? Is it? Who in their right mind wouldn’t? Who would say no to such endless, unconditional adoration?
Luke’s action makes them both moan with satisfaction because they both know how this is going to go: Luke will demand and take, and the Mandalorian will obey and give, give him anything he could possibly want, simply unable to say no – he dotes on his little Jedi prince too much to say no.
Luke sighs with content and falls back onto the bed, bending his knees and digging his heels into the mattress, bracketing the Mandalorian’s head between his thighs again.
*****
Din just cannot believe that this is actually happening – that this is really him, Din Djarin, who is kneeling between Luke Skywalker’s spread thighs, drooling and swallowing around his cock, taking him all the way in and begging him – please, sweetheart, choke me – every time he is pulled off to breathe.
And it is (finally, finally!) his head bobbing between his Jedi boy’s bent knees, making him tremble with pleasure and lose control – making him fuck into Din’s mouth hard and without restraint.
And this time, Din gets to see it – not through the narrow gap between the doors, but before his own eyes – how his little prince thrashes around and writhes among his rumpled sheets, lifting his back off the bed in an impossible arch and throwing his head back against the pillows as he pushes into Din’s mouth, rough and impatient in his desire.
“Come on, take me in deeper!” he whines petulantly, tightening his grip on Din’s curls and holding his head in place, while he sinks into his mouth to the root.
And Din doesn’t care how utterly obscene he must sound, drooling and moaning around a mouthful of the Jedi’s cock as he lets him push it into his throat until he can’t breathe anymore.
His arousal is almost unbearable, fuelled by Luke’s overwhelming need, but he pushes his own urges down, no matter how the Force around him sizzles and thrashes and sings, promising him pleasure beyond belief. It is a torture and a blessing all at once – to be the Jedi’s lover. Because the Force is with him, even now. The third partner in their bed. And it tempts Din, spurs him on, pushes him to come, and…
No!
No, his little prince told him not to. So he won’t. He won’t.
His hands are shaking violently where they slide up and down, up and down the Jedi’s trembling thighs, encouraging him to slam in harder, urging him not to hold back.
“Come in my mouth, baby…” he pants out hoarsely between Luke’s thrusts. “I’m so thirsty … Let me drink you up… Let me taste your pleasure…”
And the Jedi cries out in ecstasy, arching off the bed one last time before he spills into Din’s greedy mouth, fisting his gloved hand into his hair and not letting him draw back.
“Yes!” he gasps breathlessly, watching Din’s throat work around his dick with impossibly dilated pupils. “Yes, be a good Mandalorian and swallow it all down.”
And Din does. Like a good Mandalorian.
*****
Luke’s body is spread before Din, relaxed and languid, and Din revels in the sight in awed silence, struggling to believe that he did this.
And it doesn’t even matter that Din’s own arousal is still a tightly coiled spring inside his lower belly. None of his discomfort matters as long as the Jedi sighs, blissed-out and satisfied for the moment, his lashes trembling over his half-lidded eyes.
“You are so beautiful, so beautiful…” Din presses the words into the tender skin on the inside of Luke’s thighs, peppering them with little kisses. “You’re all I can think about… Thank you for letting me make love to you.”
“Make love?” At that, the Jedi shakes with breathless laughter, raking his gloved fingers through Din’s mussed up hair. “Oh, you’re so sweet…”
Din’s cheeks flare, and he hides his face in the bend of Luke’s knee, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss there.
Luke’s laughter turns into a needy whine. “More! I want more! Kiss me… Kiss me everywhere!”
And Din obliges him immediately, thrumming with eagerness and desire to please his Jedi boy, but still not entirely ready to believe that he actually gets to kiss and lick his perfect body.
It’s meditative in a strange, hypnotizing way, and Din feels completely entranced by how Luke trembles under his touch and arches into his lips when he kisses him…everywhere. There is serenity for him too, after all. And it is between the Jedi’s legs – shaking with pleasure on Din’s shoulders and squeezing his head – as he sucks on Luke’s entrance, lapping at the stretched hole with obscene moans and squelching sounds, making it wet and open as he pushes his tongue into it – over and over and over, for what feels like eternity. Until the Jedi is a mewling, incoherent mess. Until he fists his hand in Din’s curls and tugs, pushing Din’s mouth even closer. Until he comes all over Din’s face with a strangled cry of pleasure. And maybe Din is just delirious with joy, but it seems to him that he makes out his own name in it.
*****
Luke sits up on the bed again.
The Mandalorian stares up at him from between his spread legs, his eyes wild and his pupils blown up impossibly wide. He looks on edge.
Luke likes that. Likes that burning, all-consuming passion, still somehow miraculously contained within this man – all to protect Luke’s fragile Jedi serenity.
Luke stands up and, with two fingers under the man’s chin, motions the Mandalorian to rise to his feet too.
“Has it been difficult for you to lust after me all this time?” Luke asks, all coy and innocent, but running his palm down the Mandalorian’s armored chest and torso to let it rest just above the clear outline of his aching cock.
“Was it hard to watch but never touch?” Luke doesn’t wait for the response – he already knows the answer. He moves his hand lower – to gently cup the Mandalorian over the fabric of his pants, already completely soaked through with precome. The touch is light – just enough to tease but not even remotely enough to bring any kind of relief.
“Did you wait for me?” Luke exhales hotly, rising to his toes to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the Mandalorian’s neck, and enjoys the sight of the man’s whole body shuddering, as if electrocuted, while he exercises absolutely inhuman restraint, holding himself back. “Or did you find someone else to fuck? Was he good? Did you call my name when you fucked him?”
The Mandalorian staggers back as if Luke has slapped him. He looks terrified at the notion.
“No! I… No! I never…”
Of course he never.
Luke knows that. He knows the Mandalorian wouldn’t go to anyone else. It’s just nice to hear him say it. Nice to know for sure that Din Djarin didn’t find anyone else because he doesn’t want anyone else.
The Jedi are supposed to condemn attachment and passion. But Luke wants all of it. Every single drop he can squeeze out of his Mandalorian.
“No one else, Your Highness… No one but you!” he swears, his eyes pleading.
No one but him. Isn’t that the sweetest thing to hear?
Luke grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs him down a little – so that he could latch onto his throat, running his lips over the burning skin and breathing in deeply before he sinks his teeth in, biting down hard.
The Mandalorian lets out a strangled moan, sounding more like a dying, agonizing animal. He shudders uncontrollably, taking Luke’s mark, and his pure joy spills all around them in the Force.
Luke licks his lips, tasting blood.
He smiles.
It takes him no effort whatsoever to push the Mandalorian onto the bed. He sprawls on his back, staring up at Luke with huge, disbelieving eyes as he straddles his hips in one fluid motion.
“You’ve been so good and obedient for me, Mandalorian.” Luke leans over to whisper his praise against the shell of Din’s ear, knowing full well that his words will immediately send a hot jolt of electricity through his entire body, short-circuiting his brain completely. “You haven’t come without permission.”
Luke moves his hips in a languid, provocative motion, pressing his naked ass against the hardness hidden under the wet fabric of the man’s tented pants.
The way his body outright convulses under him tells Luke exactly what it takes the Mandalorian to obey his rules.
He looks feverish. He must be burning alive under all that beskar of his, but he doesn’t even try to disobey Luke’s order and take it off.
“Such a good Mandalorian,” Luke exhales hotly into his lips, and the man wheezes, his chest heaving with rattling breaths of agony as if the words have crushed his ribcage.
“Please… I’m dying… Please …” he gasps out, his fists clenching in the fabric of Luke’s sheet. But he remains where he is – lying obediently under Luke, all pliant and not making any attempts to buck up into the heat of Luke’s body pressing down on his hips.
Such restraint.
Luke feels a sudden swell of hot, syrupy pleasure sweep over him at the very thought.
He could use the Force to hold the Mandalorian down while he rides him, chasing his release over and over again, but he doesn’t need to. Din Djarin is already restrained – by Luke’s words alone.
“No coming until you’ve satisfied me, Mandalorian,” Luke reminds him, just in case. “Do you understand?”
“Yes!” The man under him trembles, as if in pain. “Yes, cyar’ika!” Luke frowns. What was that? Din must be delirious with want already. He’s even talking gibberish, poor thing.
Luke shakes his head in regret. Why, why did he have to go ahead and break a perfectly good Mandalorian?
Oh, he should just take mercy on him.
He reaches behind himself and frees the man’s dick from his pants. Then he misuses the Force to fetch a tube of bacta and slicks Din’s cock up with a practiced motion, without even looking.
His hole is still open and dripping wet with Din’s saliva, so Luke just lowers himself onto the shaft – down and down – throwing his head back in a silent cry of euphoria.
With a strangled moan, the Mandalorian shudders under him uncontrollably as if an earthquake has shaken the very foundation of his being.
Luke laughs breathlessly, looking down and seeing his own reflection in the impossibly dark mirrors of his lover’s eyes. With his golden skin glistening with sweat and his damp hair plastered to his forehead – he must look like the picture of pure sin. No wonder the Mandalorian seems to have forgotten how to breathe entirely.
Luke moves his hips impatiently, not giving the Mandalorian enough time to get used to the overwhelming sensation of his heat around him, and the man jolts up, nearly leaping out of bed with wide-eyed astonishment.
“Oh!” he actually mewls, staring up at Luke, hearts in his eyes.
Luke’s hand presses to his beskar chest plate and pushes him back down.
“Stay.”
The Mandalorian squeezes his eyes shut. He looks like he is in pain, but his hips obediently don’t try to buck up, trembling under Luke’s thighs with truly inhuman restraint.
Luke lifts himself up and slams his hips down again, and Din’s upper body immediately arches off the bed as if pulled up by invisible strings.
“Are you gonna lie back now and let me use you for my pleasure like a good Mandalorian?” Luke hisses in annoyance, leaning forward and splaying his gloved fingers over the hollow of his throat to hold him in place. “Or do I have to press my lightsaber to your neck to keep you down?”
*****
Din’s eyes roll back in his skull as he convulses under the Jedi in acute, unbearable pleasure piercing his entire being with hot, electric jolts at every word that falls from the Jedi’s lips.
Din’s heart is ready to burst out of his chest, and sweat is blurring his eyes. Or is it tears? He sure does feel like he is about to cry with embarrassment.
And in any other circumstances, he would never ever admit to that, but this time – this impossible chance – might very well be his only one. Din knows that. He understands that, however devastating the truth might be. And he will not waste this opportunity simply because he is too shy and mortified to admit that…well…
“Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes, please. I want your blade at my throat, Jedi.” The last word is a low moan, and Din feels like he might actually die of embarrassment. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, but he simply can’t look away – can’t miss the moment when Luke’s pupils blow up, suddenly and dramatically, swallowing the bluest blue of his eyes completely as he gasps in understanding.
He doesn’t say anything – just nods silently, and the hilt of his lightsaber springs into his outstretched hand.
He leans forward, shifting his hips around Din’s cock, and Din throws his head back, baring his throat to the green light that sizzles to life inches away from it.
“Stay down, Mandalorian,” Luke’s low, dangerous voice orders, sending shivers down Din’s spine. “Or not even your beskar armor will be able to protect you.”
“Yes, Master Jedi,” Din groans pathetically, feeling the dangerous heat against his vulnerable throat and the wet heat around his achingly hard shaft. “Yes, yes, yes…”
The Jedi’s hips rise and fall in a fast but torturing rhythm, tearing strangled cries out of Din’s chest – so lewd and shameless in the steady electric hum of the Jedi’s low-powered lightsaber.
And it’s so very fitting – the way Luke is in control even now, his grip firm on his weapon, while Din is a mewling, incoherent mess under him, only able to blindly run his hands up and down the Jedi’s narrow thighs in the last attempt to hold on to his elusive consciousness as the Jedi pleasures himself on his cock.
They move towards each other in a strange rhythm that only they can hear – as if rocking on waves of an endless ocean. In that rhythm, the heart of the universe is beating. Each shock is a stellar collision.
“Ah, ah, ahh!”
“Yes, yes, please, please… ”
Their sobs, and hoarse moans, and hot whispers are intoxicating music that permeates everything around them, filling the Force and making it sing along.
It’s never, ever felt so good…
It’s heat and impatience.
Faster, faster!
Come on!
Just a little more!..
It’s a chase.
And they run until Luke’s supernova explodes, and Din’s world goes dark.
*****
When Din’s consciousness returns into focus again, the first thing he realizes – clear as day – is that Luke Skywalker lies sprawled on his chest, his naked skin pressed to the beskar armor. A lazy smile tugs at his lips.
He looks completely blissed-out and sated.
Din tentatively presses a kiss to the top of his head, burying his nose in the tousled hair for just a single moment of weakness.
The Jedi shifts on top of him, languid and drowsy, and Din’s heart clenches painfully in his chest.
Luke has been with so many other men. Has any one of them ever gotten to see him like this?
Has anyone ever made his little Jedi prince feel like this?
Satisfied. Pacified. Liquified with pleasure. A puddle of pure bliss.
Has any other man ever–
“No,” the Jedi suddenly murmurs against his chest, crashing Din’s train of thought, and although he can’t actually see his face, Din just knows he is rolling his eyes as he whimpers. “Stop thinking so loudly, Mandalorian. Just clean up the mess you’ve made and tuck me in. I’m feeling sleepy.”
He whines petulantly when Din carefully puts him down onto the rumpled sheets and starts to clean him up. With his tongue.
At first, he tries to push Din’s head away, but quickly gives up and relaxes under Din’s mouth licking his thighs clean and greedily sucking at his wet hole dripping with come.
“That’s it, baby boy. Just lay back. Let me take care of you.”
By the time Din has finally wrapped him in a blanket, practically swaddling him and cradling him against his chest, the Jedi is almost lethargic.
“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he murmurs sluggishly, peering at Din from under his drooping eyelids, “what does it mean?”
“How–” Din chokes, his eyes huge, and swallows a lump in his throat. “How do you know it?”
“The Force always chants it when I’m around you,” Luke smiles sleepily, all disheveled and adorable in Din’s embrace.
“It means I know you forever.” Din presses a fond kiss to his forehead, willing his voice not to break as he finally speaks the only words he ever wants to say to his sweet little Jedi prince, “It means I love you.”
“Mhm…” The Jedi snuggles up against his beskar-clad chest, all warm and cozy and already half asleep as he murmurs with a smile, “I know.”