Rest for the Wretched

by EAVanGeek

Summary:

Escaping the Sarlacc should have been it- Boba Fett should have been able to leave that hell hole and move on with his life. But something... happened. Scars that run even deeper than the ones that are etched into his body.

Between saving Fennec Shand, and helping this 'Beskar Stranger' on his quest, Boba Fett now has to grapple with his past and his uncertain future. Will his new found conscience get in the way? Or will he be able to push it aside like he used to, in order to be more than anyone expected of him?

Notes:

Updates every Sunday and Wednesday. Follow me on Twitter @EAVanGeek for more.

Chapter 1: Survive

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

It was one of the lessons his father, Jango Fett, taught him. Before that bastard Jedi took his head- changed everything.

 

If you can focus on something else, anything else, the pain will become secondary. He remembers screaming and crawling through the sand, what was left of his flight suit catching the grains of sand, digging into his raw skin.

 

So he focuses on his hands, grabbing with one before pulling up and moving to the other. He did that until he passed out.

 

Focus on something else. In order to fight the pain.

 

He woke up, the sun that he had not felt on his skin for ages, now burning him alive. He screamed, working his lungs until they were raw so he wouldn’t have to think about his bare skin, of the fact he was naked and dragging himself through Tatooine with his honor, his connection, his past and his anger, all gone.

 

Then he passed out again, only to wake up, shivering in the cold of the night. The lone Tusken who had found him, talking in that soft language to the bantha. Boba waits until the raider comes over, checking on him- and with the rock in one hand he smashes his skull in, caving it and beating him bloody, focusing on the carnage, the violence.

 

He knelt there, staring at the ruined mess as he pants, the smell of rations and something else- meat. He never did figure out what it was- womprat, scavengers, dead slaves that tried to flee to the sands to survive. He ate it all the same.

 

Focus on something else, and the pain will be secondary .

 

Boba Fett stole the raider’s robes, wearing the inner black robe, only throwing on the sand-colored outer tunic in the heat of the day. 

 

He watched from the rocks, focusing on the jumpstart who shot his prisoner. How only two hours later, someone else came and checked on the body. The sag in the shoulders, the pure beskar helmet that looks back at where the kid had taken off to. And the slow but persistent march towards Mos Eisley.

 

Boba waited until he could not see that stranger in pure beskar anymore before going over.

 

“Fennec.” he whispers, his voice cracked and hoarse.

 

He checked- she should be dead and yet…

 

He pulled off the glove, peeling skin from sand, acid, and sun, resting it on the pulse, then underneath the nose.

 

“Shit.”

 

She was alive. 

 

A focus. 

 

Something to make the pain secondary. 

 

He pulled her up, wrapped her as best he could, and moved towards Mos Pelgo. It took longer, just trying to keep her alive, make sure that she didn’t die on him.

 

The medic he found was passable- but she would live. He sat in the waiting room, felt the insistent throb in his leg. But he focused on the wall, following the lines, the way that the sand crept into the corners of the windowpane, the furniture- even the corners furthest from the door.

 

The medic came out, took one look at him, and silently waved him in.

 

That was when he learned he had been walking on a broken leg, that the acid from the Sarlaac had eaten into the marrow, that ‘he should be dead from this much damage’.

 

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

“Replace it then.”

 

“I- look, your friend over there is already having to undergo surgery, my droid is prepping her right now and-”

 

“Take it off, I’ll find somewhere else then.”

 

“Are you crazy!? Look buddy, I don’t know who you think you are but-”

 

Boba grabbed at the medic’s shirt, pulling him in close.

 

“Either take my damn leg or leave me the kark alone.”

 

There it was- the fear. 

 

But it was… off. 

 

It didn’t feel right. 

 

But the medic nods, rushing away, knocking into a stand before booting up a different droid, getting him prepared. Boba sighs, laying back, refusing anesthetic, like he always did.

 

“Focus… Focus…” he whispers to himself.

 

For the first time in a long time, he does not hear his father come out of his mouth- He heard a broken stranger.

 

---

 

Fennec was… cautious. Probably for good reason , he thought. He normally didn’t save people. And yet he did- he saved her.

 

“I owe you a debt.” she finally says, on the third day she woke up from surgery.

 

“No you don’t.” he snaps, getting supplies before throwing it all onto the back of the bantha.

 

“Yes, I do.”

 

“Well I don’t want anything from you.”

 

“Not even my help?”

 

He pauses.

 

“Where’s my ship?”

 

“Don’t know- I can help you find it.”

 

“Fine, we’ll call it even.”

 

“We’ll be even, when I say we’re even.”

 

“Stubborn Sniper.”

 

“Bastard Bounty Hunter.”

 

He actually smiles at that. She just gives a smirk, putting her now iconic helmet over her head, climbing up on the bantha, one arm down to let him get up. He takes it, the prosthetic foot catching the stirrup and hoisting himself up.

 

“You know how to ride one of these things?” he asks.

 

“Nope.” she replies, pulling one of his hands over and giving him the reins. “I’m shotgun.”

 

“Smart girl.”

 

“Don’t do that.” she snaps, loading the blaster.

 

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

 

---

 

They found his ship in Florrum, of all places. She helped by buying what had been stripped, getting him what he needed, the parts and tools to help him put it all together.

 

His body ached , his skin stiff and the fake leg still screaming if he stood on it for too long, the stump that was not quite connected.

 

They would talk, short sentences, which would lead to short stories.

 

Which led to longer ones.

 

The first time she slammed that ointment lotion on the counter, he had pulled a blaster on her, raising an eyebrow as she just stood there.

 

“I’m tired of you peeling in the electronics.” was all she said before walking off.

 

He went out of his way to make sure he got the tea that she kept eyeing at the smuggler’s den after that. He threw it at her when she was in the hammock, ignoring the knife that was thrown mere centimeters from his cheek.

 

That was how it was. By the time his ship was fixed, Fennec was stubborn and said the debt still wasn’t paid.

 

“Fine. I need my armour back.”

 

“Done.”

 

“We’ll be even after.”

 

“We are even, when I say we’re even.”

 

“... I get the feeling we’re never gonna be even.”

 

“Nope.”

 

She drank her tea, kicking her feet up on his table, smirking at him in that condescending way. 

 

He waited about ten seconds before pushing her feet off the table. She let him. He grabbed the kettle and poured himself some tea, letting it steep longer than it should, just because he knew it pissed her off.

 

---

 

He passed out, collapsed in his seat from the pain. Fennec cursed him out, swearing in Huttese and Ryl the entire way she took him to an actual doctor.

 

He hated doctors.

 

The white clean look, the crispness that came from it all.

 

The only thing he hated more than doctors was rain.

 

Rain. Rain, and a deep ocean underneath him.

 

He hated bugs, he hated rain, he hated doctors.

 

Above all he hated the apathetic pity that came from all of it.

 

And right now, he hates Fennec Shand too.

 

The stump was infected- he had not been keeping it clean. He had two ribs heal improperly, a skin infection along the back of his neck and the part of his back he never could quite reach on his own.

 

“A kriffing mess and poor excuse for a karking killer.” was what Fennec kept muttering, over and over as he went in and out of consciousness.

 

He woke up slow and fogged, rolling his head over to see Fennec alert, her modified sniper blaster in her hands, the helmet on even in the medical room. He looked down at his arms, for the first time saw that the skin was healed, cracked and pulled in parts, but healed.

 

“Bacta tank.” he says, voice still not like his father’s. Not at all.

 

“A week, in and out of skin grafts too.” Fennec answers, as if he had questioned it. “They had plenty of samples for you.”

 

“Course they did.”

 

“... I’ve met clones in the past.”

He stiffens at that. She doesn’t look at him when she says that.

 

“I was hired to kill them. Early career work.”

 

“... Me too.”

 

“Was it strange, killing yourself over and over like that?”

 

“I wasn’t killing me.”

 

“... Your father.”

 

“They were no one to me.”

 

“Did you ever stop?”

 

“No. Switched to Jedi. Made it easier.”

 

“Heard they’re harder.”

 

“Sometimes.”

 

“Sometimes?”

 

“Did you find out where my armour is?”

 

“Yeah,” she stood up, pulling the blanket up to his chest, pressing down on his chest and glaring at him. “But you’re not going until you’re healed. Completely.”

 

“... I hate this debt.”

 

“I know.”

 

“I should have killed you.”

 

“You didn’t.”

 

“Still time.”

 

She cocked the rifle.

 

“Same here, Fett.”

 

He smiled. He knew it looked like a sneer. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back and resting for the first time since he crawled out of the Sarlacc Pit.

Chapter 2: Stranger in Beskar

He left when he knew she was asleep. Walking on bare feet, rolling his heels. The prosthetic leg wrapped in the shirt he wore. The rifle and gaffi stick the only weapons he took.

 

Mos Pelgo.

 

That was where it was- his father’s armour. The last piece of his past, the only thing he wanted to keep about that part of his life. Fennec would have to understand. And if she didn’t- well tough. Why should he care what she thought?”

 

A stolen speeder, which he abandoned when got to the mountains, using the wind and dune sea to his advantage. It would take forever for Fennec to trail him- but she was a hunter, just like him.

 

Give it time.

 

Maybe she would finally put him out of his misery.

 

He had not taken the ointment lotion, already the skin that had been grafted back on threatening to crack and tear. But what was one more scar? He did not itch at it, years of forcing himself not to.

 

There were no mirrors on his ship- no pools of water on Tatooine. He had no idea what he looked like now. Did he even look like his father? He sits in a cave, watching the town down below, thinking back on the past.

 

The last clone he had killed was maybe two years younger- but the aging process always messed it up- he looked old, far too old. White hair, the tattoos on his face a blend between what his father and he have, and… something else. Probably his Jedi’s culture.

 

He saw Boba, begging to be killed. That was just before he went off to Bespin, was in Coruscant for supplies, nothing more. He was begging for food, skin and bone and wrinkles. Something his father never got to experience.

 

Boba remembers how he strangled the clone in the back alley, feeling him gasp for air. And then… that smile on his face. The tears in his eyes, the way his body sagged.

 

“Thank you… thank… you…”

 

The last words out of his mouth. It haunted Boba. It apparently still did.

 

He rubs at his eyes, the pressure on his skin grounding. He heard it. The sound of a different speeder, of a podracer engine.

 

And he saw it.

 

His father’s armour.

 

And that stranger from before, the pure beskar.

 

He pauses, leaning forward and watches as the two dismount. A town meeting in the bar. The stranger came out, talking to the bastard who was wearing his legacy. But when the helmet comes off, he sees the man, pulling out his scope.

 

White hair, grey beard, boyish features underneath the sun-touched skin, the way he leans to the side, talking to that stranger.

 

The man in pure beskar.

 

Unpainted, unmarked.

 

Not tainted.

 

Everything Boba was not.

 

“... What are you doing here?” he asks himself.

 

So instead of marching down, stabbing the imposter with the gaffi stick and taking what is rightfully his… Instead, he waits.

 

---

 

A long time ago, Jabba the Hutt had bragged he had fed the Sarlacc enough Jedi that it had gained a taste for the unique. That it would… talk.

 

Boba Fett did not believe that for one second. The Hutt bragged just to brag- until he fell in.

 

He heard that child’s voice. How it blended and mixed with previous victims. How the tendrils inside wrapped around him, pushing and tearing at his flight suit, trying to peel him like some kind of hardened fruit.

 

He was drowning.

 

He was starving.

 

He was dying.

 

And he felt everyone else who had died here- the child-like voice of the monster seeping in, reminding him of every life he took- innocent or not.

 

Of killing Cad Bane, of every scared youngling he dragged back to the Empire. Of the grown padawans who had been so desperate to leave it all behind, the pain, the war, all of it. 

 

Of the clone who he strangled in the back alley because he had gotten what Jango Fett never did- to grow old.

 

And somehow, some way, the Sarlacc made sure that Boba felt it all. The breaking of bones, the thrashing and choking- drowning in all this suffering. He was there for so long.

 

Six years, if Fennec was to be believed.

 

Six long insufferable years.

 

He knew he cried. Knew he had screamed and tried to fight back. He knew he yelled at that damn child-like thing , the Sarlacc laughing alongside its voice.How he had triggered that blasted jetpack, oil and fuel coating his back.

 

He should be dead.

 

He has died.

He died and was born again.

 

But everytime he closed his eyes, all he could hear was his father’s voice.

 

“Stay down, stay hidden. I’ll be back. Do not leave this spot, no matter what happens. Understand, son?”

 

He would wake up, eyes snapping open just as he saw his father’s head roll off his shoulders. Or when that kriffing clone smiled, thanking him for strangling him.

 

He woke up in the cave like that, staring at the jagged walls. One breath in, one out. Slow and even, hands flexing, one set of toes curling. The prosthetic did not- by design. He sat up, grunting as he did so.

 

“Overslept. Farrick.”

 

He moved to look out on the town- something was wrong.

 

He pulls out the scope, switching over to heat. Nothing. No body signatures. He snarls, grabbing his weapons, pulling his hood up and heading down.

 

No one was home. He lost his temper, kicking over a supplies crate with his real foot, shouting profanities. And then he collected himself, saw the tracks that led away from town. He found a broken speeder, but a quick rewiring and he followed.

 

It took him two days- but he found them. The town, the Tuskens, that boyish smiling bastard still wearing his armour- and the stranger. He found a small place to hide, watching as they all dug charges, preparing for… something.

 

He got his answer the next morning. A Krayt Dragon.

 

Boba watched with no emotion, saw as townsfolk and raiders alike died. How that bastard went flying around with the stranger- and then something incredible happened.

 

The stranger smacked his jetpack, the bastard flying away as the Krayt swallowed the stranger and the bantha holding the rest of the charges. That should have been it…

 

Until it wasn’t.

 

The Krayt blew up from the inside, screaming out as the beskar stranger flew out, the pulse rifle in one hand, a detonator in the other.

 

The shouting, cheering. It was… a victory. 

 

Something tugged at the bounty hunter’s chest- and it wasn’t watching as that boyish bastard returned his armour to the beskar stranger.

 

No… no, it was something else. Something, but he had no clue what it was.

 

He watched as that beskar stranger took some of the Krayt Dragon meat, his father’s legacy, and a brown satchel, got on the bike and drove off. He waits until he can’t see that spot anymore.

 

And then climbs onto his speeder and follows from a safe distance. Just in case.

 

---

 

Fennec caught up with him about a day after the beskar stranger totaled his bike. He saw what was in the satchel- a small green thing, a child?

 

“Thought I told you to stay put until you were healed.” she snaps, laying down to watch with him.

 

“I am.” he says.

 

“You’re peeling again.”

 

“Not on the ship.”

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

“Deal with it.”

 

She took his scopes, shoving a small tin in his hands. He grunts and turns, letting her watch that beskar stranger as he rubbed the ointment into his face and neck.

 

“... That’s Mando.” Fennec says.

 

“Who?” Boba grunts, finally scratching the itch on his nose, the ointment soothing shortly after.

 

“Mando- From the Guild, on Nevarro. Or he was.”

 

“Never heard of him.”

 

“He’s Guild.” she says, deadpanned.

 

“That explains it.” he says, snorting. “Guild work is never enough.”

 

“Not all of us can get rich from killing Jedi.”

 

“Oh yeah? Wonder why that is.”

 

“Maybe because someone took all the pucks for them right at the source.”

 

“Easy princess-”

 

He stops. She gives him a look.

 

“Really?” she drawls.

 

“Kark off.” he snaps.

 

“You first.”

 

“Who’s the kid?”

 

“What kid?”

 

“His little companion.” he closes the tin, turning back around, pulling the hood up and dropping low with her. “The green guy.”

 

“No idea- but I can take a guess.”

 

“Guess then.”

 

“The reason he’s not in the Guild anymore.”

 

He paused at that.

 

“That kid was a hit?”

 

“Possibly. The Empire is gone- but Imps still wander the edges. Guess one of them wanted that kid, and Mando refused.”

 

Boba snorts, muttering under his breath in broken Mando’a.

 

“What was that?” Fennec asks, handing back the scope.

 

“Typical Mandalorian- he took a foundling. The kid is as good as his now.”

 

“... A weakness.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“We could exploit it.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“He killed a Krayt Dragon.”

 

“So?”

 

“... Let’s follow him for a bit, shall we?”

 

“Boba.”

 

“Fennec.”

 

“He left me for dead.”

 

“But he didn’t kill you.”

 

“Yet.”

 

“You trust me or not?”

 

Fennec leaned back, looking him up and down. Boba kept his face as still as he could.

 

“... I need my things.” she finally says.

 

“Done, where is it?”

 

“Here, there. Bits and pieces.”

 

“Then let’s go.”

 

He stood up, the prosthetic foot sliding a bit on the rock. She got up as well- there was the whirring sound from her lower abdomen.

 

“... We should find a real medic.” she says, walking back to the speeders.

 

“Know a good one?”

 

“Heard Naboo has a few- hopefully it’s settled down.”

 

“Down?”

 

“The Emperor was from Naboo.”

 

“... Forgot about that.” Boba huffs. “Might be cheaper to stay there for a while.”

 

“Have you ever been?”

 

“No- I hate water.”

 

“... Why?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Fair.” Fennec shrugs, kicking her speeder on shortly after Boba did.

 

They veered away, leaving the beskar stranger- Mando- to walk back alone. Boba didn’t know what kind of ship he had- but Fennec did. That was enough for now.

Notes:

Boba is a little fucked up emotionally. It's Very Satisfying to write- see y'all around ;)

Chapter 3: Cin Vhetin

Naboo was like a Core System world- it was clean, there were people walking around in new linens and the air was so fresh it set his teeth on edge.

 

Boba Fett had to pause, looking at Fennec for a good minute. It was a shock they were so close to Tatooine- hell that they were even still in the Outer Rims. But she was nonplussed, walking away from Slave I and heading somewhere else.

 

He was out of place, the robe he wore black and torn, showing wear and tear. No soft hues of yellow or rich burgundy like the people they passed. He followed her lead, Theed passing by with relative quiet.

 

“Least it’s sunny.” he muttered.

 

“It’s a reservoir planet.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Still lots of water.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“You first.”

 

He shut up after that, keeping his hood up. A memorial for Alderanaan in the middle of a square, the statue that must have once had the Emperor now replaced with some unnamed queen. Open stairs, hanging gardens- and flowers. There were flowers everywhere he looked. As they turned, they saw why- a funeral of some kind.

 

“Another former queen.” Fennec whispers. “This way.”

 

Boba watched for a few moments. The family that marched in front, in mourning clothes of pale blue and black, sheer veils on the men, flowers and hair that was left down on the women. He never understood funerals- perhaps it was because of his work.

 

Or his father.

 

Or even more so- it was because of who and what he was. After all, clones do not get funerals, Protectors are never buried, their bodies left to rot in the hot sun as their armour is taken and stripped to be passed onto the next. This was… excessive.

 

He hated it.

 

He turned away, following Fennec before coming to a lowered walkway, a door hidden between two vases and a stairway. The river was close by, lazy in it’s journey. They walked in, a rather decorated droid welcoming them.

 

Fennec spoke for them both, giving pseudo names. Then they were led further in, Boba already feeling his skin crawl from the funeral outside and water underneath his feet. The doctor spoke in soft tones, pointing out prosthetics. He didn’t care- but he did stress he wanted touch sensors and a sturdy build, flexible but not overly complicated.

 

“Need to put my boot over it. Survive extreme conditions of all kinds, weatherproof and the like.”

 

“Of course, any preference for color?”

“... No.”

 

“Very well.”

 

---

 

Two days on Naboo- the funeral made it impossible to leave the planet undetected. Fennec had been able to make contact and grab the rest of her gear, having it all smuggled to the small hotel they were staying in.

 

Boba was in the shared living space, thumbing through a holopad, reading up on what he had missed. On Mandalore specifically. Fennec was in the room, having already cleaned her weapons, checking them for scratches, dents, any ill-work twice over. Now she was going through stretches on the floor, her new cybernetics exposed to the fading sun.

 

“... His gunship is called Razor Crest , Pre-Empire. Not Republic either, New or Old.”

 

“It’s a ghost.”

 

“Just like yours.”

 

“ Slave I was a Firespray, during the Mando Civil Wars.”

 

“Was?”

 

“The only original part is the hull,” he put the holopad down. “What happened to Mandalore, do you know?”

 

“They tried to rebel. Alone.”

 

“And?”

 

“It failed, the Empire retaliated.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“What is it?”

 

“Wonder if our friend is a veteran of that little rebellion.”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Maybe?”

 

“You were both operating at the same time- but he’s only ever been called ‘Mando’.”

 

“I’m not a Mandalorian.”

 

“And your armour?”

 

“It was my fathers.”

 

“Right.”

 

There’s a comfortable silence that falls on them. 

 

Boba watches as Fennec moves, resting her weight on her forearms before lifting her lower half up. The cybernetics move, silently. She then pushes up, palms open, rotating one leg in a small circle before switching to the other.

 

He goes back to reading, flexing his leg. Out of the corner of his vision, he watches as the cybernetic foot curves, the ankle ball smooth and gold in color. It was a beautiful piece in it’s own right- but compared to the rest of the things on Naboo, it was brutalist, harsh lines and no eloquence. It suited him just fine.

 

“... If the Empire is gone, that means most of our contacts are-”

 

“Imprisoned.” Fennec stands up, pulling her leg up from behind, touching her shoulder. “Or dead.”

 

“So no jobs.”

 

“Unless you like Guild work.”

 

He sneers. 

 

He closes the holopad, standing up and going to wrap his fists. Fennec finished her stretches, moving to do the same. They squared off, Fennec with open palms while Boba lowered his body, arms up and closed fist.

 

They pause, just long enough to check. And then it’s a fight,  Fennec using a combination of her legs and open strikes. Boba blocked them, pulling more grapples than anything else.

 

“Who’s in the Palace then?” he asks.

 

“Bib Fortuna.” she answers.

 

“That Twi’lek was always slimy.”

 

They switched, Boba attacking and Fennec defending. Whenever he would get a hit in, she would block and use his momentum to try and take him off balance- but he would counter just as quickly.

 

“Could take over, once we get my armour.” Boba says.

 

“And do what?” She asks.

 

“Be kings.”

 

“There’s an idea.”

 

He kicked out, hitting a leg, grabbing her in a chokehold and using his new metallic knee to pin her calf. After a few seconds, she tapped out. He helped her up, only for her to use the offered arm to swing up and wrap her legs around his neck, pulling her body weight until he landed on his back, struggling for air.

 

He tapped out after he started to see spots in his vision.

 

“You should have warmed up.” she says, helping him.

 

“You’re a sore loser.” he grunts.

 

“Maybe.”

 

He shot her a look. She stared right back, moving over to pull on a clean shirt.

 

“Rest of my things should be here tomorrow morning. Then we can go look for Mando.”

 

“Fine by me.” he says, reaching for the holopad again.

 

“I’m gonna find some company- you want one?”

 

Company . He sighs, shaking his head.

 

“You sure?” she says, letting her hair down before re-braiding it. “Might do you good, work on your people skills.”

 

“My people skills are fine.”

 

“... Boba.”

 

“Fennec.”

 

“You need to get laid.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Boba-”

 

“Go,” he looks up. “Have your drinks, find a whore. But I’m staying here.”

 

She blinks at him. He knows that look- knew it, once upon a time. She leaves the room, quiet and cold. He reads until the sun sets, the soft glowing orbs from the lamp his only light source. He moves to go get food, after hours of sitting on the couch, staring at the room and the open window scenery.

 

Fennec had come back, moving the small petite woman she had picked up to her room. Boba had been standing in the kitchenette, simple bread and a nutripack in his hands. He stood like that, staring at Fennec’s door for longer than he should have.

 

Maybe she had been right. 

 

But he was stubborn.

 

---

 

He dreamt that night. For once, it was not the Sarlacc, or Geonosis. It wasn’t some nameless, faceless hit, or even that same mind-numbing dream of being in hyperspace, the drone of his father’s ship lulling him to sleep, the stars blending and phasing in and out shapes.

 

Instead, it was of Mandalore.

 

A place he has never been- a place he never intends to be.

 

That beskar stranger is in front of him. The rifle in hand, marching just ahead. Boba watches… and then his feet follow.

 

They walk for hours like that, neither saying a word. But as that stranger walks, the glassed surface cracks, sand and green grass where his feet just were. Boba knows that there is only blood where he goes- blood and pain.

 

But this stranger… There's hope. Life.

 

“... Mando.” Boba calls out.

 

The beskar stranger stops. They slowly turn to face him.

 

Fear.

 

Anger.

 

Rejection.

 

It hits Boba square in the chest when he sees the T-Visor, the unmarked and uncolored cuirass reflecting his figure back at him.

 

And he sees what he was like when he was a young boy on Kamino. Reflected in the T-Visor.

 

Mando tilts his head, looking straight through Boba.

 

And then they are kneeling, the rifle put down in front of him. Boba walks forward, placing his feet where the grass and sand was, afraid to slip on the glass. When he’s close enough, he looks back up to see the T-Visor in front of him again.

 

The beskar stranger offers their hand. In the center of the palm, is a flower. A single white flower.

 

Boba looks down, and then back up.

 

The hand moves, offering the flower.

 

He takes it. They remove their glove, showing a formless hand before it moves to rest on his head. Warmth… and that something he had felt before. When watching the real thing, the real Mando leave the Krayt Dragon’s maw, saving that sand-forsaken village and the raiders.

 

---

 

Boba woke up to Fennec knocking on his door.

 

“Don’t forget to use your ointment.” she says through the door. “We’re leaving soon.”

 

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. When he looks over at the window, there are pale white flowers. Like fresh snow . He almost takes one.

 

Instead he gets up, opening the tin with lotion and getting on with the day.

Notes:

Chapter early b/c I have my last day tomorrow and start my new job on Tuesday- not sure how much free time I'll have so this is coming early.

Chapter 4: Tython

“Are you a Jedi?” The beskar stranger asks. “Or are you after the Child?”

 

The first thing that struck Boba was his voice. How soft it was.

 

The second was the fucking gall of the man to ask that question.

 

“I’m here for the armour.” he calls out, moving forward, giving Fennec time to get in position like they talked about.

 

“You’ll have to peel it off my dead body.”

 

Bold words, Boba thought.

 

“Not your armour.” he says instead. “My armour. The armour you got from Cobb Vanth on Tatooine. It belongs to me.”

 

“Are you Mandalorian?”

 

“I’m just a simple man trying to make my way through the galaxy. Like my father before me.”

 

He did not hear his father’s voice say it. It sounded… off to him. But everything he said now was like that, ever since the Sarlacc.

 

“Did you take the Creed?” Mando stresses, the gun still aimed at Boba.

 

“I give my allegiance to no one.” He snaps.

 

“The armour belongs to the Mandalorians-”

 

“The armour was my father’s. Now it’s mine.”

 

“What’s to stop me from dropping you right where you stand?” he says, a blaster still aimed at Boba’s chest.

 

“Because I have a sharpshooter up on that ridge with a locked scope that will unload by the time my body hits the ground.” he says calmly.

 

“I’m the one wearing beskar.” There was that Mandalorian confidence . “As soon as I see that muzzle flash, you’re both dead.” 

 

“I didn’t mean she was going to shoot you.” Boba says, leaning a little on his good foot. “My friend’s locked onto that little companion of yours up on the henge.”

 

“And if you remember, I don’t miss.” Fennec says, loud enough that the comm Boba has on him can be heard by the beskar stranger.

 

“You point that gun away from the kid or I’ll drop you both where you stand.” he says, the vocoder not doing well enough to hide the fear in his voice.

 

Boba blinked slowly. And then he raised a hand, the signal for Fennec but also to look passive to the beskar stranger.

 

“Let’s all put down our weapons, have a chat.” he starts. “There’s no need for bloodshed.”

 

“Tell her to drop the gun.” Mando snaps.

 

“After you put down the jetpack.” Boba counters.

 

“... Same time.” he says.

 

Boba nods, flicking his wrist. He saw Fennec move away, towards him. He slips off the Tusken sniper, putting it on the ground the same time that Mando moves to take off his jetpack. Fennec, stubbornly, keeps her rifle, but lowers the muzzle at least.

 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she says, smiling at Mando.

 

“You were dead.” he says back, voice once again taking on that soft note.

 

It did something to Boba. He wasn’t able to name it.

 

“Fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched.” he says.

 

He can feel Fennec wanting to roll her eyes at him.

 

“In my case, Boba Fett was that fate. And I am now in his service.” she says to the beskar stranger.

 

Boba shot her a look. She just looked at him, focusing back on the beskar stranger.

 

“I want my armour back.” he says, returning his focus back to the conversation.

 

“It goes against the Creed.” Mando says.

 

“The armor was given to my father, Jango, by your forebears.” Boba starts. “In exchange, I guarantee the safety of the Child, as well as your own. The bounty on your little friend has risen significantly. You can buy ten suits of armor for the price on its head. I’d say we’re offering a fair deal under the circumstances.”

 

Before anything else can be said, a ship comes screaming down, close to where the three of them are.

 

Dammit. Boba nods at Fennec, the sniper already moving to take position. Boba looks up at the beskar stranger- he’s already looking down at the ship landing and then up at the plateau where his foundling was.

 

“Go.” Boba says. “We’ll hold them off.”

 

There’s a pause. And then Mando nods, running up. Boba grabs the gaffi stick, taking a deep breath.

 

And then he moves.

 

---

 

When he touched back down with Slave I , after seeing that cruiser, Fennec was standing over the ledge, watching as that beskar stranger was combing through the wreckage of his ship.

 

“There’s nothing left.” Boba says, his helmet tucked underneath his arm.

 

“You got your armour though.” she says, face purposely blank.

 

“Yeah…” he sighs.

 

There was some nagging feeling in his chest.

 

First it was Mando’s voice. He had not been expecting it to be… like that . Or for him to show that much emotion, even when wearing all that armour. Boba watched as he picked up two things from the ashes- one he could not see, but it was small, small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.

 

For a fleeting moment, Boba thought it might be a flower. A small white one, like from his dream.

 

The second thing was a spear, just as untarnished and unpainted like his armour.

 

That gave him pause.

 

“Spears new.” Fennec says, adjusting her stance as Mando starts walking back up to them.

 

“... This is all that survived.” he says, voice laced with emotion again.

 

Beskar. The spear was made of pure beskar. It’s like he walked right out of a history holo .

 

“I want you to take a look at something.” Boba starts, bringing the vambrace up.
“My chain code has been encoded in this armor for 25 years. You see, this is me. Boba Fett. This is my father, Jango Fett.

 

“Your father was a foundling?” Mando asks.

 

“Yes.” Boba turns it off, looking him head on. “He even fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars.”

 

It doesn’t take the Force for Boba to feel Fennec stiffen at that. But to be fair, his father’s past was not known- much like his own, it was not meant to be found out so casually.

 

“Then that armor belongs to you.” Mando says.

 

That feeling from before . In the dream. The fear that was closely followed by… something else. Boba feels his jaw clench, taking a deep breath, nodding once. He must have said something, because the next words out of that beskar stranger’s mouth are ‘deal’ and ‘complete’.

 

“... Not quite.” Boba feels himself saying.

 

He knows Fennec is staring at him. But the way that Mando tilts his helmet, the T-Visor drilling into him, he doesn’t stop.

 

“We agreed in exchange for the return of my armor, we will ensure the safety of the Child.”

 

“The Child is gone.”

 

The crack in his voice is not stopped by the vocoder.

 

“Then… Until he is returned to you safely, we are in your debt.”

 

---

 

The moment that Mando retired to the spare room given to him, Fennec pulled off her helmet and threw it at Boba.

 

He caught it, but he knew that wasn’t the point.

 

“What about taking out Bib Fortuna?” she hissed, marching to get into his space. “Becoming ‘Kings’, like you said on Naboo.”

 

“It can wait.”

 

“Clearly!”

 

“He just lost his ship and his foundling.” he pushed her helmet back into her chest. “Shove it.”

 

“What happened to the ruthless Boba Fett?”

 

“I could still kill you. Strip that bastard of his armour and sell it for scraps.”

 

“What is going on-”

 

“Nothing-”

 

“That’s bantha shit and you know it!”

 

He had his helmet tucked underneath his arm, so he was staring right at her. The two glared for half a moment before finally…

 

“It’s the right thing to do.” he says. He’s surprised that his voice didn’t break.

 

“... What?” She asks, squinting at him.

 

“Helping him.” Boba says. “It’s… the right thing to do. Just like saving you was.”

 

She blinks, and then she lets out a short huff- it might as well have been a bark of laughter.

 

“You’re… growing a conscience on me?” she says. Her voice was softer now.

 

“Shut up.” he snaps, slamming his helmet on his head.

 

“Boba wait-” she grabs his arm, just on the inside of his elbow. “I’m not insulting you.”

 

He pauses.

 

“Be better if you were.” he says. The vocoder makes his already gruff voice sound… worse. Menacing.

 

Not like his father’s at all.

 

“I’ll still help you-” Fennec says. “but promise me we’ll get to become Kings after.”

 

“... Deal.”

 

“I’ll talk with Mando, see where he wants to go next.”

 

She let go, walking away from him. He climbed up into the cockpit, switching on controls and heading to take off. It was methodical, laying on his back and watching as the ship floated up and righted itself, taking off.

 

By the time that Fennec climbed into the cockpit, his nerves had settled. That was until… 

 

“Nevarro.” Mando says, voice steeled and sitting down in the passenger seat next to Boba. “I have some friends who can help us. We’ll need them if we’re to get a lead.”

 

Boba gripped the controls, inputting the location silently. He knew Fennec was leaning against the cockpit door, watching as the ship jumped into hyperspace.

 

He desperately wanted to look over at the beskar stranger- but with his helmet on, his peripheral vision was cut, having to rely on the sensors. But then he saw it, the flash of metal in the other hunter’s hand.

 

A round ball, still covered in ash and soot. He was holding it so gently in his hands- it looked like it was once a ship part. How it survived, Boba had no idea.

 

He swallowed down that strange feeling again. Least it’s not a flower.

 

---

 

The ‘friend’ turned out to be a New Republic Marshal. She paused when she saw him- but when Mando walked up, gently putting his hand on Boba’s shoulder, she started to walk up the plank.

 

“We need to go to Karthon next.” Mando says, at Boba. “Do you think you can get us there?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

The hand left his shoulder.

 

Boba felt his throat tighten.

 

Thank you.

 

And there it was- that feeling . Fear and Anger and something else. At being made to feel like he was something smaller than he is. He was a legend- a bounty hunter. Not some scared little kid from Kamino. Not someone who needed praise- or even worse, friends.

 

He pushed down the urge to shoot Mando where he was and went to start up the ship again.

Notes:

I'm moving updates to Sundays b/c of my new job. I'll also be doing BobaDin Week 2021- Enjoy this week's chapter.

Chapter 5: Paint Job

He had a nightmare again. This time, he threw up, leaning over the closest canister.

 

Thankfully it was just filled with broken droid parts.

 

Boba groaned, getting up from his cot and taking the canister with him and exiting his quarters. His skin itched, so he had opted to just pull over a shirt- once upon a time it was oversized on him, but now it was snug, the wide sleeves stopping just below the elbow. He found his work desk, putting the canister in a cleaning hold, flipping switches before it started to turn, cleaning the parts and the bucket.

 

Fennec had picked up some paint for him while on Navarro- and while his armour was in better condition than he thought it would be… it was just as scared and hideous looking as he was now. Boba lets out a heavy sigh, knowing he’s not going to be able to go back to sleep.

 

He sits down, pulling the paint thinner and some sanding paper. It’s a methodical process, one he hasn’t done in a long time. But it was to keep his hands busy while his mind began to wander. Like why this beskar stranger was… different.

 

“Did you want help?”

 

Boba does not jump, his body too tired and too well trained for that. But his hand does twitch, the cleaner clicking off just as he looks up to see the very man that has been on his mind.

 

“... You should get some sleep.” Boba says.

 

“Could say the same for you.” Mando says back.

 

Boba blinks slowly. Another heavy sigh before he pushes the paint thinner over with it’s cloth, pointing at the pauldron.

 

“If you want to be useful, take the paint off.”

 

Without another word, Mando moves, gently taking the piece with his gloved hands and dipping the cloth, soft circles as the chipped yellow paint comes off. Boba watches from the corner of his eye, sees how Mando gravitates towards the work light but says nothing.

 

It’s so gentle.

 

Boba hates himself for letting him think of what it would be like on his skin.

 

To have someone slowly but gently remove his own scarring, until there was nothing left but beskar.

 

He sniffs a little harsher than he thought possible, going back to roughing up the metal before pulling over the paint and beginning the process of redoing the colors.

 

They work like this for… who knows how long. Long enough for when Mando shifts, Boba hears the tell-tale pop of his ankle after standing up for so long. With no words, Boba moves, grabs a chair, setting it into the back of the other man’s knees maybe a little too harshly, forcing him to sit down. He doesn’t look over to see the T-Visor look at him, already back to work and ignoring the stare.

 

“... Thank you.” Mando finally says.

 

“Hm.” Boba grunts.

 

“Does it mean anything?”

 

Boba finally looks over.

 

“The colors.” Mando says. “Do they mean anything?”

 

Boba pauses. He could tell the truth- that they did, but the purpose was long gone, the people who would have worn such colors were slaughtered. That his father never felt worthy enough for them again- but it didn’t matter to Boba. He knew who his father was, that so long as he wore them, Jango would live on.

 

“No.” is what he says instead. “They’re just colors.”

 

“I see.”

 

They continue to work quietly.

 

“... You don’t decorate your armour. Why?” Boba asks.

 

“Never have the time.”

 

“... I have paint.”

 

It sounds lame to Boba’s ears. But he hears the soft laughter, the way that Mando tilts his helmet as he works the cloth into a divet in the chest-plate.

 

“I can see that.” Mando teases. “I’m okay for now.”

 

“Another time then.”

 

“Hm. Maybe. First we have to find The Child.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Boba was putting on the touches of the fern on his chest plate as he saw it. Mando picking up the helmet. The glove hand coming over the dent on the forehead. Boba leans back, looking at the other man, watching as the other strokes it with a fondness.

 

“Must have been some fight.” Mando mutters.

 

“It was a stand-off.” Boba says.

 

The way the other hunter lifts his head, the T-Visor looking straight through him… Boba has to force himself to remember to breathe.

 

“Did you win?” Mando asks. 

 

There it is again- that vulnerability in his voice, even when fully armoured the way he is.

 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Boba says.

 

“... I’m glad you are.”

 

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Boba blinks, paintbrush hovering. He clears his throat and goes back to painting.

 

“I was young, he was cocky. I won. Helmet saved my ass,” Boba smirks, remembering the fight. “His hat didn’t.”

 

“Who was he?”

 

“Cad Bane.”

 

“Never heard of him.”

 

“Have you heard of me?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well,” Boba snorts. “Here I thought I was feared throughout the galaxy.”

 

“Hm…” Mando started work on taking the paint off the helmet. “We must travel to different parts of the galaxy then.”

 

“Hm. Apparently.”

 

It was… almost peaceful, working like this. Boba felt the side of his face tug, nearly a smile. It wasn’t until Fennec set down a cup of caf at his elbow did he realize how long they had been travelling. She didn’t set anything down for Mando.

 

He took a sip, standing up and putting a hand on Mando’s shoulder.

 

“Come on, time to eat.” Boba says.

 

“I’ll be okay.” Mando answers.

 

That gave him pause. Until the Marshal’s voice shouted from the next room.

 

“Mando, your food is in the cot!”

 

He stood up, gently placing the helmet down on the workbench before standing in front of Boba.

 

“Thank you. For letting me help.” Mando says. Gentle. Like his hands.

 

“Stop doing that.” Boba snaps.

 

Mando tenses, and then puts those blasted hands on his belt.

 

“Stop what?” he asks.

 

“Thanking me.” Boba says. “It’s… I don’t like it.”

 

“... I’m sorry. I won’t do it.”

 

He left. 

 

Fennec was standing in the doorway, forcing Mando to sidestep around her. She was staring right at Boba, one eyebrow raised. He sneers, turning his back to her and closing the paint cans before grabbing the cup of caf and pushing his shoulder into her.

 

Fennec shoved him back, following him into the kitchen.

 

---

 

“Let’s just say they might recognize my face.”

 

Boba thought it was a good joke.

 

No one laughed.

 

He stayed quiet for the rest of the planning, wondering if he really did look so different that no one knew he was a clone anymore.

 

How many years had he struggled with that? Knowing there were millions of others with his exact nose, his eyes, his hands? That these features that were his fathers were shared with those bastards?

 

It had been what he clung to, what he hated the most.

 

And now… all he had was the ship and armour. He went back to the ship, the comm he had with Fennec open. She would occasionally tap out in code, letting him know if anything happened. It went… as he had expected.

Mando and ‘Mayfield’, the chatterbox they had picked up, were inside. Now it was just a waiting game. His comm pinged, Fennec tapping out a code.

 

Sleep with him. Do you both some good.

 

He ground his teeth together. He leaned forward, tapping a message back.

 

No. I don’t fuck clients.

 

He’s interested.

 

I am not.

 

Liar.

 

Focus on the mission.

 

Once he has the kid, he will leave. Fuck him, know it won’t be forever.

 

Not professional.

 

Coward.

 

He stopped responding after that. He leaned back in his seat, looking out the window. One hand tapping on his thigh, the modified utility kilt hiding the thigh plating. He knew that it wasn’t a kama- but it was a nice addition, he was going to keep it.

 

Boba’s mind wandered back to Mando. His answer to not painting his own armour.

 

Never have the time.

 

Time.

 

Time to know the man. Time to figure out why he had all of Boba’s attention.

 

Time to process.

 

Time… to heal.

 

Boba Fett was never given that time. Not until the Sarlacc- and even then, he spent so much of it just trying to stay alive, to figure out his next move. To not dwell on every memory that resurfaced, how anytime he closed his eyes, he was thrown back into that pit, into the arena to watch his father’s head roll of his shoulders, into a prison where every guard looked like him-

 

Boba dug his fingers into his thigh. A focus.

 

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

Boba grabbed the comm, debating on whether or not to tap a new message to Fennec. Just as his thumb hovered, he heard her voice.

 

“They’re leaving. Need a pick up.”

 

“On it.”

 

Boba turned on his ship, steeling himself for the fight.

Notes:

Boba you dumbass- you're in love.

Chapter 6: Friends

They had the coordinates. And Mando was now asking to go see someone else. When Boba asked for the name, he didn’t know what he had expected.

 

But to hear this beskar stranger say Kryze of all people…

 

Might as well have just spat in Boba’s face, calling him not worthy. But there was something… off, ever since they had left Morak. He couldn’t figure it out though. But Fennec had her suspicions.

 

“Something happened- and I’m going to take a wild guess and say it has to do with his Creed.”

 

“... His creed.”

 

Fennec nods, cleaning her blaster across from Boba, who was tinkering with a knee plate across the table.

 

“I know most Mandalorians don’t take their helmets off, like you.” she says. “Least of all him- why do you think he doesn’t eat with us? Why he sleeps alone?”

 

Boba pauses, looking up and raising one scarred eyebrow.

 

“He’s a private person.” Boba says.

 

Fennec shot him a look. He just stared back.

 

“Boba.”

 

“Fennec.”

 

“You like him.”

 

“I don’t even know what he looks like.”

 

“That’s never stopped anyone.”

 

“If you plan on killing me, you could at least try to do it when I’m sleeping alone. He’s been through enough without you putting a blaster bolt in the back of my head.”

 

“I won’t kill you until we become Kings. You promised.”

 

“I. do not. Promise.”

 

“Well, not in so many words.”

 

He wanted to be mad. But… he laughs, shaking his head as he goes back to work.

 

“What a pair we make.” he mutters.

 

“Hm. It’s good to have friends sometimes.” she says, putting the blaster back together.

 

He stops. Friends…

 

“You think we’re friends?” he asks.

 

He knows that his voice makes it sound accusatory. But Fennec looks up and sees his face- must see the confusion underneath everything else.

 

“... Huh.” she blinks, looking down at her weapon. “I… Yeah. I do.”

 

He blinks. He puts down his tools, leaning back in his chair.

 

“When the fuck did that happen?” he says.

 

“... Naboo, I think.” she says, now just staring at a spot on the wall.

 

“No… No, I think it was sooner.” he says.

 

“When?”

 

“... I’m not sure.”

 

He looks at her, watches as her brow furrows, one hand moving to the scopes, forefinger and thumb gently twisting it.

 

“... Fennec.”

 

She looks at him.

 

“I’m okay.” she says, soft and near a whisper.

 

“... I don’t think I am.” he says, the whisper gruff and jagged around the edges.

 

“I know.”

 

“... I really am growing a conscience.”

 

“It looks good on you.”

 

“You need to stop lying to my face if we’re ever to rule Tatooine.”

 

“Alright,” she starts to laugh. “It makes you look like you’re seconds from running away and hiding in a cave for the rest of your life.”

 

“Hm.” he laughs with her. “Do you know a cure for that?”

 

“Yeah.” she cocks the blaster, “Fuck someone and leave the next morning.”

 

He tilts his head to the side.

 

“Is that what you did on Naboo?”

 

“... Maybe.”

 

“That’s… not healthy. I think.”

 

“You have a better idea?”

 

“No… unless you count pit fighting as an alternative.”

 

“Well, there’s no pit in the sector- but there is a rather dressed up bounty hunter on this ship.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“Who has such a lovely voice.” she moves to put the sniper blaster away, “And hands so gentle .”

 

“I can still kill you.” Boba snaps.

 

He felt her put a hand on his shoulder.

 

“But you won’t.” She says, leaning down next to his ear. “But you should do something about this stupid crush you have. Sleep with the man, would relax you both.”

 

“... I don’t think that’s how friends talk to each other.” Boba says.

 

“Like we would know.”

 

He actually smiles at that.

 

“Fair point.”

 

---

 

They were a few hours out from meeting with Kryze. Boba was suited up, his helmet tucked underneath his arm. He took a deep breath. In… Hold… and Out.

 

He knocked on the door. Perhaps a little too harshly. But Mando opened it, standing on the other side, full beskar on his body.

 

“Boba.” he says. “... Can I help you-”

 

“Inside. Now.”

 

Boba pushed him with his hand, forcing both of them back into the room. Mando let him, one hand wrapping around Boba’s own but not aggressive… yet.

 

“Sit.”

 

“What’s going on-”

 

“Sit down and shut up.”

 

Mando sits on the bunk, looking up at Boba. Boba takes a deep breath. In… Hold… and Out.

 

“You’re not focused. You need to get your mind off of everything.” Boba starts. “So I have a solution.”

 

There’s a long pause.

 

“What do you have in mind?” Mando asks.

 

Boba was always a man of action. So instead of saying anything, he steps forward, forcing the beskar stranger’s legs apart, putting his helmet down next to the man.

 

And he drops to his knees, arms resting on top of the beskar stranger’s thighs.

 

“... Oh.” Mando says.

 

It’s the hitch in his voice, the shudder that runs through him as gloved hands flex on the sheets. Boba feels that what little shred of pride he had left swell in his chest.

 

“Your choice.” Boba says. “It’s either this, or I beat you around for a few rounds.”

 

Boba can feel his heart in his throat, beating so loud he was sure that it could be heard in the Core Systems. Mando doesn’t say anything for a long time…

 

But those hands. Gentle hands , as Fennec had called them. They came to rest so softly on top of Boba’s forearms, thumb rubbing at where his pulse point was underneath his own gloves. How one eventually finds its way to Boba’s cheek, fingertips tracing the edge of the ear that was now fused to the side of his head. He could smell the oil and blaster residue on the leather glove.

 

“Are you sure?” Mando asks, voice so goddamn soft that it burns .

 

“I’m offering, aren’t I?” Boba says, a bit of challenge in his voice.

 

There’s a heavy silence that fills the room. And just as Boba is about to get up, to surrender to this star's forsaken feeling that he was not ready, that he was not what this stranger wanted, like how so many others didn’t want him.

 

He hears Mando’s breath hitch, that shudder that was trying to hide a whine.

 

“Please.” he says, voice full of… that thing Boba couldn’t quite identify. “Help me.”

 

“... I’ll help you.” Boba says, feeling the corner of his mouth turn up. “Just relax. I’ve got you.”

Notes:

If this last part feels familiar, it's b/c I had put part of this chapter (and the next one) up as it's own seperate thing- A Distraction was the title.

Anyways I'm going to be switching to twice a week postings b/c I have finished this story and want to be able to post the next one as soon as I can... w/o dumping roughly twenty chapters in one sitting lol. Commment below if you would prefer Wednesday or Friday upd8s along with Sunday ones.

Chapter 7: NSFW- Focus on Me

“Just relax, I’ve got you.”

 

Boba leaned into the hand holding the side of his face. He hopes it’s a smile that is on his face, not a sneer. But he moves, kissing the gloved palm before shifting his own hands up.

 

The belt was the first thing undone, the tassets and padding gently pushed to the side. Mando’s hands went to his shoulders- an instinct, the initial push stopped, fingers gently squeezing the muscle, fingers finding their way underneath Boba’s own pauldrons.

 

“... Do you want to stop?” Boba asks.

 

The beskar stranger shakes his no.

 

“It’s just… been a while.” Mando says, voice hitched.

 

Boba lets out a short laugh.

 

“It’s just me.” he says, looking back down at his work, hands moving to find the zipper in the other man’s flight suit. “Don’t worry.”

 

Mando pushes legs further apart, a heavy breath escaping him as Boba finally undoes the last clasp, knuckles brushing against him as the zipper is pulled down.

 

“I’m not worried.” Mando says.

 

“Nervous then,” Boba shrugs. “same thing.”

 

“It’s not-”

 

Boba leans in, pressing his nose into the other man’s crotch, eyes closing shut as he inhales. Mando finally moans, choked out and broken apart, thanks to his helmet’s vocoder. Boba opens his eyes, looking right into the T-Visor as he lets his tongue peek out, licking a strip up, his hands pushing the layers of armour and clothing away to give him more access.

 

“You were saying.” Boba says, his own voice just a touch lower.

 

One hand moved, Mando using it to hold himself up on the bunk. The other moved closer, over the folds of Boba’s cowl, leather glove stroking at his neck.

 

It was so goddamn gentle.

 

Boba hated it.

 

He wanted more of it.

 

Instead he leaned forward, mouthing at the clothed cock in front of him, tongue wetting the fabric as he did so. He felt it harden underneath him, filling out the boxers. And that star's forsaken gentle hand, near shaking as it stroked his cheek, traced his ear, felt his neck underneath the cowl.

 

A bead of precum was staining the front, near the waistband. Boba moved forward, wrapping his lips around the tip through the cloth, humming low as he did so. The hand on his neck tenses, pressure added to the touch. Boba moved his own hand, one wrapping around the other’s waist, pulling at the other man’s lower back. The other, shifting forward, finger hooking into the fabric, pulling it down.

 

“Such a pretty cock.” Boba murmurs.

 

Mando whines , the T-visor finally tipping back, and he can see it. This beskar stranger’s neck- the Adam apple bobbing just where the flight suit stopped, his cape not on his shoulders to cover that last inch. The smattering of facial hair, seemingly the same color as what Boba had right in front of his face. Dark brown, making the tan skin look paler in contrast.

 

The vicious thought of what this beskar stranger would do if he just lunged forward, sunk his teeth into the bare neck. Would he squirm? Would he whine, try to push him off? Pull him in? Dig blunt nails into his skin… or would it trace the acid scars, find where his nerves had gone dead, only to find where it was sensitive again?

 

What does his face look like? Was it just as gentle as his hands?

 

Boba pulled his glove off with his teeth, his bare hand cupping the other man’s length, glove thrown away, next to his own helmet. Mando jumps in the palm of his hand- warm and alive and another bead of precum forming at the top. He feels a rumble form in his chest.

 

“Please.” Mando whispers.

 

Boba looks up, sees that he’s being watched again. That damn gentle hand is back, thumb resting on his lower lip as the pointer strokes his jaw. The way his chest expands before it shakes on the exhale.

 

“Please… don’t tease.”

 

“I’ll tease all I damn want.” Boba growls.

 

And there it is. 

 

That wet gasp that could so easily be mistaken for something else. Boba sneers, leaning forward, tongue out and making a show of it now. Pulling the other man’s underwear down further, forcing the band underneath his balls. Boba lowered his head, moving to nestle against the patch of hair, still keeping eye contact while he did so.

 

The plain soap that he used, the sweat from wearing armour all the time- and something that was… him. Intoxicating . Boba let his tongue roll before sucking in one of his balls, bare hand moving so his thumb can swipe at the head, using the precum to make it easier to stroke the other man.

 

The grip on his neck tightening, the panting that was no longer able to hide behind the helmet’s vocoder. Boba closed his eyes, his own scarred and broken throat opening up, a sound that he wasn’t quite sure himself to be a purr or a growl, leaving his throat. The audible wet pop as he let go, moving to kiss up the shaft, thumb and forefinger loose and just under the head of the other man’s cock.

 

And he pulls back, leaning back on his haunches. He relaxes his face, feigning boredom, stroking him lazily. When he hears the beskar stranger groan, forced to look down at him, Boba smirks.

 

“... Beg for it.” Boba says.

 

There’s a pause.

 

“No.” Mando grunts.

 

Boba’s smirk grows.

 

“Come on, princess ,” he licks his lips, moving his hand down, tightening his grip. “You want to forget, don’t you?”

 

The hand that had been holding Mando up moves, fingers digging into Boba’s bicep, his own hand twitching, gripping the other man’s waist just that bit tighter. Boba pops his jaw, staring right up at the T-Visor.

 

“You were doing so good before.” Boba whispers. “You say ‘please’ so nicely.”

 

Mando is breathing heavily- Boba can still see that Adam’s apple working even now.

 

“Might even like it if you thank me after.” Boba teases, his pace on the other’s cock now near non-existent. “But you gotta ask me nicely. Gently .”

 

“Sadist.” Mando spits out.

“Maybe.” Boba sighs. And then holds Mando’s balls in a vice grip. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

 

One of Mando’s legs kicks out, thigh twitching underneath Boba’s arm.

 

“Come on now.” Boba feels the laugh catch on his vocal cords. “Beg.”

 

“... Please.” It comes choked out. “Please- I want you to… to-”

 

“... to?” Boba brushes the underside of his cock, featherlight now. “What? To what, Mando?”

 

“Make me forget.”

 

“How?”

 

“You know how.”

 

“Manners.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

“Rather do something else.” Boba clicks his tongue, leaning forward just a little, tongue peaking out for just a second. “But you gotta ask.”

 

Just as Mando’s hands shot out, Boba stood up, slamming the other man’s wrists down, looming over him as he pushed the beskar stranger flat on his back. He pressed his forehead against the helmet- the cool metal was bliss against his heated skin. He knows his eyes started to flutter shut, but he forced them to stay open.

 

“None of that now.” Boba murmurs. “You gotta be specific, little one. What do you want?”

 

“I- I… I can’t.” Mando says, voice cracking.

 

“Can’t? Or Won’t?”

 

“Please- please just. Just suck me off.”

 

“... Is that all you want?”

 

“No- Yes! I- please?”

 

“Oh isn’t that something?” Boba laughs. “Poor little beroya can’t make a decision anymore.”

 

He sinks back down to his knees, giving one, two solid strokes of the other’s cock.

 

“Let’s see if I can make you stop thinking completely.”

 

Boba wraps his lips around Mando’s cock head, not once letting his eyes leave the T-Visor. The full body shudder that leaves him, the way his hands finally stopped being so gentle, one grabbing his shoulder, the other fisting the sheets, damn near tearing them apart.

 

Boba lowers his head, breathing through his nose. In… Hold… Out. Relaxing his jaw, bobbing gently. Not once letting this beskar stranger look away. When the helmet starts to tilt away, Boba digs his fingers into his hip, forcing him to keep looking at him.

 

Boba knows he’s hard. 

 

Has been since that gentle brush against his skin. But Boba ignores it, focuses on getting as much of Mando into his mouth- he reaches a point where he can’t anymore. So what if he drools a little, brings his hand up to stroke what he can’t reach. Moving back up just so he can swirl his tongue along the head, to watch was the hand in the sheets lifts before slamming back down, leather gloves squeaking from how desperate the other man is trying to restrain himself.

 

So what if Boba cheats, swallowing around him as he reaches the limit, feeling the cock in his mouth jump as he repeats it. Let the hand that has been gripping his shoulder like a lifeline move to the top of his head, unsure if it wants to push him down or pull him up.

 

So what if, when Boba feels Mando getting close, he pulls off, resting the head of his cock against his tongue, stroking Mando until he’s cumming, only to wrap his lips around it again, moaning low in his throat- only for the answer that comes back to be a whine so wonderful, so broken and shy that his own hips twitch at hearing it.

 

It’s salt and tang and everything he was expecting and wanted out of this.

 

Boba stands up, cum still resting on his tongue as he moves to tuck the beskar stranger back into his pants. But it’s those star forsaken gentle hands that make him pause. Resting on his neck, keeping him close.

 

“Could you show me? Please?” Mando asks.

 

Soft and full of an emotion that Boba still can’t quite put a finger on. He should just do what Fennec said, fuck and then leave.

 

Instead, he opens his mouth, showing what was there. A gloved hand comes up, brushing so gently against his chin before a thumb rests on his bottom lip. Boba finds his jaw going slack on instinct, breathing heavy through his nose on his own.

 

“Thank you.” Mando whispers, hand falling to Boba’s chest. “I… needed that.”

 

Boba does not close his mouth for a few heartbeats. But when he does, he swallows, clearing his throat shortly after. He grabs his helmet, putting it on and grabbing his glove, already moving towards the door. But then he’s being turned around, shoulders and back pressed against the door, the beskar stranger standing in front of him, leaning on him heavily.

 

“What are you-” Boba stops, breath hitching.

 

There’s a hand on his belt. Those gentle hands moving down, brushing back the utility kilt, finding the hidden codpiece there.

 

“Let me help you.” Mando says. This close Boba can hear his voice- not the vocoder, his voice . “It’s only fair.”

 

“... No.” Boba finally gets out of the hold. “This was for you, not me.”

 

He pushes Mando back, his own hands lingering for half a moment than he probably should have.

 

“Get some rest.” was the last thing Boba said before he ran away.

 

---

 

Boba ran to the showers. Here he was, cock in hand and what precious water he had beating hot on his now bare skin. He couldn’t get it out of his head- The bare patch of the neck, how he had trembled underneath Boba’s grip.

 

It would be enough to drive anyone crazy.

 

But it really was… the stark contrast to everything else. The strength in his shoulders, the way he held himself. Imposing and quiet. Strong and Vulnerable.

 

All those things that Boba knew he wasn’t. That he never was.

 

He wanted to break the man.

 

Wanted to be held by him.

 

It was maddening.

 

It was everything .

 

What finally tipped Boba over the edge was the sound of his voice. Close to his ear, a damn near beg.

 

Let me help you.

 

Boba cums, fist flying to slam against the side of the shower wall as he does. His throat feels overworked, like it had when he screamed and screamed after crawling out of that pit.

 

He pressed his face against the wall, hoping the tile would cool him down. It wasn’t the same- not like the helmet. He took a deep breath, shutting off the water. Towel wiping himself down, the small mirror that Fennec had put in here fogged.

 

He was nearly tempted to wipe it off, to remind himself of what he looks like. He stood there, staring at the damn thing for too long. But he doesn’t. Instead he gets back into his clothes, adjusting the armour.

 

He walks back out, and moves into the cockpit, Fennec is helping the ship come out of hyperspace.

 

“Did it work?” she asks.

 

No. He thinks.

 

“We’ll see.” he says.

Notes:

We have changed to Updates on Sundays and Wednesdays- thanks to everyone who commented to let me know what day they prefer!

Y'all can always leave comments, they fuel me and usually I end up adding more chapters b/c of it.

Chapter 8: Not A Clone

Finding the scientist was easy enough- and so was keeping him locked up for Mando to question him. Watching him do the interrogation was… interesting.

Boba saw that Mando was focused, more attuned to what was happening around him. Boba kept his helmet on, not letting Fennec have the chance to call him out for anything. Surprisingly, she kept quiet, focused on helping this stranger get his kid back just as much as he was.

 

When they landed on the planet where Kryze was supposed to be, Boba decided to go with Mando. Better two than just you on your own. Boba had said. Just in case.

 

Seeing the woman however… Boba kept quiet, letting Mando speak.

 

“They took the child.”

 

Boba can hear how… broken Mando was. But then she just shook her head no.

 

“You’ll never find him.” she says, already turning back to her drink.

 

His blood boiled- but this wasn’t about him.

 

“We don’t need these two.” Boba started to turn “Let’s get out of here.”

 

“You are not Mandalorian.”

 

Fuck.

 

“Never said I was.” Boba says.

 

“I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk.” the other woman sneered.

 

“Well, if that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy.” Boba turns back to her.

 

She stood up, pulled a vibroblade out. Kryze stood up and grabbed the other woman’s wrist.

 

“Easy there, little one.” Boba says, mocking.

 

Mando piped up- letting the woman know about the coordinates. Boba watched the other woman put the vibroblade back, but she remained standing. He took a deep breath, his blood already on fire being here, but he wasn’t going to start anything.

 

“... be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore.” Mando says.

 

“Mandalore?” Boba snorts. “The empire turned that planet to glass.”

 

“You are a disgrace to your armour!” Kryze spits.

 

“This armour belonged to my father.” Boba swivels his head to look at her.

 

“Don’t you mean your donor?”

 

He dug his fingernails into his palm, trying not to swing.

 

“Careful, princess…” Boba sneers.

 

“You are a clone.” Kryze says, the high and mighty noble finally rearing its head. “I’ve heard your voice a thousand times.”

 

“Mine might be the last you hear.” Boba takes one step forward…

 

Only for Kryze's loyal servant to try to swing at him. He blocked it, an open palm grip, and threw her down on the table away from Mando. It broke, the woman standing up.

 

Boba activated the whipcord- it wrapped around the woman’s wrist. She was strong- strong enough to pull the cord and throw him off balance, pulling him towards her. A knee to the stomach- he wraps his arms around her middle as her own come for his neck, trapping his helmet underneath her arm. He heard the jetpack activate before she was up in the air… and he found himself thrown onto a different table.

 

It hurt- he’s had worse. He flicked his wrist, activating the flamethrower- just in time for her to do the exact same thing. The heat would have been too much- but he had his helmet on. She didn’t. He just had to outlast her…

 

“ENOUGH!” Kryze shouts. “Both of you!”

 

Boba looks out of the corner of his eye- sees Mando just… standing there. He stops, standing up, ignoring the two women, going to stand next to his beskar stranger. Mando and Kryze begin to talk again- negotiating.

 

He hears it- or at least. The description. 

 

The Darksaber.

 

His father had told him about it- cursed thing. Something that people who wanted to separate themselves from foundlings, just another thing that shunned and made people like him an outsider. She wanted it, because of course she did.

 

A glory status- like claiming to be from such a long over convoluted family like Clan Kryze.

 

“Help me rescue the Child and you can have whatever you want.” Mando says. “He is my only priority.”

 

That makes Boba pause. He looked over at Mando as he and Kryze shook hands.

 

They all left together- Kryze and her servant going to their ship, following Boba’s as they left the port.

 

He is my only priority.

 

What kind of true-born Mandalorian would pass on getting that weapon? Unless…

 

His beskar stranger was more like him than he thought.

 

---

 

There was a knock at his door. He had been in the middle of applying the lotion. Thinking it was Fennec, coming in to check and make sure he was actually taking care of himself, he grunted ‘enter’. He never would have thought it would be him.

 

“Sorry,” Mando’s voice cracked. “I- I’ll leave.”

 

“... Stay.” Boba says, closing his eyes, forcing himself not to throw a knife at him. “Could use some help.”

 

“... Now you want my help?” Mando asks.

 

Boba snorts, hears the teasing tone in his voice.

 

“Well now I’m not so sure.” Boba looks over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna be like that.”

 

There’s a pause. And then the door to his quarters shuts. He hears Mando’s feet before seeing his back, moving towards the small medicine cabinet.

 

“Your back looks bad,” Mando says. “Do you have any bacta?”

 

“... Second shelf, but it’s not spray.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Boba watched as those gloved hands move, picking out the bacta and some hypro spray… along with actual bandages. He turned around, T-Visor staring right at Boba.

 

“Shirt off?” Mando asks.

 

“What.” Boba says.

 

“Did you want to keep your shirt off?”

 

Boba blinks.

 

“Can’t help if it’s on.” Boba snaps.

 

There’s a soft laugh.

 

“Guess not.” Mando says.

 

Mando sits down, placing his supplies to one side. Boba watches, the beskar stranger finally taking his gloves off- he has to look away, taking a deep breath as warm fingers prod at the bruising. There’s a large patch on his back that can’t feel the other’s touch- and then he hisses as he suddenly does.

 

“Sorry.” Mando whispers. “This next part is going to hurt.”

 

He feels the needle, the bacta working quickly as the hypro spray is applied to his skin. It’s cold. But when those warm hands touch him again, rubbing into the injection area. It does hurt, sore and he grinds his teeth as it happens. But Mando is still gentle. Boba leans forward, hating his body for reacting how it was.

 

“... Can you feel this?” Mando asks.

 

“Sort of. There are parts that are dead now.” Boba says.

 

“Hm… Have you seen your back? Since… the Sarlacc.”

 

“Who told you that?”

 

“Fennec.”

 

“Of course she did.”

 

“You were brave.”

 

“I was an idiot.”

 

“You stood up against Koska. Kryze’s second.”

 

“So she has a name.” Boba snorts. “Wonderful.”

 

“I’m sure she was hurting too.” Mando says, voice light. Conversational. “But she’s… different.”

 

“... I haven’t.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“My back.” Boba clears his throat. “I haven’t seen it since coming back.”

 

There’s a pause.

 

“I like it.” Mando says, casual like.

 

Boba straightens up, looking at the T-Visor. Mando stopped, hands coming down to rest on his knees. The helmet tilts just so.

 

“You like my back?” Boba asks, deadpan.

 

“Yes.” Mando says. “It’s a strong back.”

 

“... Huh.” Boba feels the side of his mouth quirk up. “I, um… You have good hands.”

 

“You think so?” Mando says, flexing them. “I… don’t really take my gloves off all that often. But figured it would be better.”

 

“Hm… it was.” Boba looks down at his own hands, the acid buns that twisted around his forearms, crawling up his biceps. “I need to apply this lotion.”

 

“Is it for the scars?”

 

“Yeah.” Boba pulls up his leg, applying the lotion to his ankle, rubbing it into his exposed calf, pushing the leg of his pants up as he did so. “It’s for the scars.”

 

“... Boba.”

 

“What is it, Mando?”

 

“Thank you for going with me.”

 

Boba pauses.

 

“It’s nothing.” Boba says, “We’re… different. From them.”

 

“Last time I saw Kryze, she said I was part of a cult.”

 

“What cult?” Boba jokes.

 

“The Children of the Watch.” Mando says seriously.

 

That gave Boba pause.

 

“... So you know about it.” Mando says.

 

“I do.” Boba says, cautious. “They’re not overly fond of… me.”

 

“You mean your kind?”

 

“I have no kind.” Boba snaps.

 

Mando stiffens. Boba takes a deep breath, closing the lid on the lotion container before tossing it at the sink just beneath the medicine cabinet.

 

“... What do you know about clones?” Boba asks.

 

“Not much.” Mando answers. “Just that they were used at the start of the Empire. And that once the Empire was founded they just… disappeared.”

 

“They didn’t disappear.” Boba says. “They… were hunted. Just like the Jedi. And then they were erased, like they never existed. Problem is, there were more clones than Jedi. So… it was harder to make regular people forget about them.”

 

Mando stays quiet for a long time.

 

“Kryze called you a clone.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Are you?”

 

“No.”

 

The answer is reflexive. He was not a clone. He was Jango’s son. He was different- he was special. He had to be, otherwise… What the hell was he?

 

But Mando just nods, moving to stand up.

 

“Then you’re not a clone.” Mando says. “You’re Boba Fett.”

 

That feeling was back. 

 

The one that sat in the pit of his stomach. Boba stood up, staring right at the T-Visor. He works his jaw, not sure what to say. So instead he puts his hand on Mando’s neck, squeezing lightly.

 

The reaction he gets is not one he expected. The drop in Mando’s shoulders, how he leans just that bit forward. Submissive. Malleable. Boba has to resist that urge to throw the man down on the bunk, to strip him and break him until he is nothing but a whispering, shambling, ruined mess of a man.

 

“We will get The Child back.” Boba finally says. “I promise. And then after… I’ll help you find a ship.”

 

Mando looks at him. At least, the T-Visor focuses on him. Boba catches a glimpse of himself in the beskar and visor. The scars that run along his face, the fact that none of his hair had survived, not even his eyelashes. Twisted and distorted by the curves of the metal.

 

He was nothing like his father now. 

 

It hit him like a punch in the gut.

 

But it was those gentle hands that pulled him out of it. Moving to take his wrist, lifting it up and off the beskar stranger’s neck.

 

“... I would appreciate that.” Mando says. “You should get some rest. I’m going to go plan with the others.”

 

“... Right.” Boba says.

 

He stood there, alone in his room. He had to close his eyes, exhaustion hitting him full force.

 

“Wait.”

 

Mando pauses. He turns his head just so, and Boba rolls his wrist, letting it pop before speaking.

 

“What’s your name?” Boba asks.

 

“... It’s Din.” he says. “My name is Din Djarin.”

 

“Din Djarin.” the older man nods. “After you plan, come back to my room.”

 

“For help?”

 

He knows the other man is teasing. He snorts.

 

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

Chapter 9: NSFW- Dark of Night

Boba Fett’s eyes snapped open at the soft knock.

 

He had put on his armour, helmet off and within arm’s reach. The lights in his room were low, and once his helmet was on it was near pitch black- until he turned on the heat sensors. He pressed the button- Mando was standing on the other side.

 

Din. His name is Din.

 

Boba stepped to the side, Din slipping inside. He sat down on the bunk, one hand moving to rub at his neck, helmet tipping to the side just so.

 

“You’re to act as a distraction.” He says. “Fire at the Imperial ship that the doctor was on. And then wait for Fennec’s signal when we have the child.”

 

“Solid plan.” Boba locked the door, leaning against it. “Who’s going on the ship?”

 

“Fennec, Cara, Katan, Koska… and me.”

 

“They’re the distraction on the ship.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Kryze wants the saber?”

 

“Yes,” Din huffs at that. “Don’t know what’s so important about it.”

 

“It’s just a weapon.” Boba lies. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

 

There’s a pause in the conversation.

 

“... So…” Din says, his hands resting in his lap. “We should… rest.”

 

“Hm.” Boba nods slowly. “Or we could fuck.”

 

“... Or we could… do that.”

 

“You don’t like that word?”

 

“I’m not a prude.” Din looks up at him.

 

Boba snorts at that.

 

“Lay down and scoot over.”

 

Din follows instructions rather well, laying back and scooting until his side was pressed into the wall. Boba moves next to him on the bunk, effectively manhandling the other man to lay on his side, back pushed against the wall with his front to Boba’s.

 

It’s a tight fit- he has to hook an ankle in between the taller man’s legs in order not to fall off. Helmets bump against each other. Hesitantly, Din moves to put one arm around Boba’s middle, open palm on the small of his back… Boba can’t tell if it’s to make sure he doesn’t fall off or if Din was seeking something else.

 

He decided it was the first one as he moved his own hands to the other man’s belt.

 

“What are you-” Din whispers.

 

“Quiet.” Boba grunts.

 

“Okay.”

 

Boba finally got it undone, moving to his own belt, pulling himself out before switching over to pull Din closer. When he did, he reached over, fumbling before finding the small bottle he had stashed. He paused, holding it in front of Din’s visor.

 

“Last chance to say no.” Boba says, knowing his voice is a little gruff.

 

A pause…

 

“Please.” Din says, voice soft and just like last time.

 

“What good manners.” Boba teases, flicking the cap open. “I like that.”

 

He knows the slick is going to ruin his gloves- he doesn’t care. Especially not when Din’s vocoder lets out that shudder and gasp. Boba presses his helmet closer, forcing the other man to look at him instead of down at his hands.

 

“It’s cold.” Din says weakly.

 

“Good.” Boba says, wrapping his hand around the other man’s cock.

 

The sharp inhale, the hand on his back flexing, grabbing the fabric not covered by his armour. Boba groans, moving closer. He grips the base of Din’s cock, thumb pressed just underneath the head, short movements back and forth.

 

“You want me to keep my gloves on?” Boba asks. “Do you want to ruin this pair, knowing that I’m gonna shoot at you with my hands smelling like you?”

 

There it is again- that sound that could so easily be a whine.

 

“Are you always this talkative?” Din tries to bite back.

 

It doesn’t exactly have the effect he wants- especially when Boba starts moving his hand.

 

“You complaining?” Boba says.

 

“Not really, no.”

 

“Then shut up and enjoy this.”

 

“You too.”

 

“What?”

 

Boba hisses as the hand not currently on the small of his back moves to wrap itself around his own cock.

 

“I said,” Din smacks Boba’s helmet with his own, “You too.”

 

Boba laughs at that, which is cut short as he moans. Broken in leather, the rough fabric of the palm of the glove. He feels his eyes roll into the back of his skull before he has to redouble his efforts.

 

“Cheater.” he spits.

 

“You started it.” Din laughs.

 

Boba twists his wrists, earning him an actual moan this time. The hand on his own cock moves lower, rolling his balls as the palm presses firm against him. He bucks, breathing through his nose, tastes blood as he bites his lip.

 

“Tell me what you like.” Boba says. Demanding.

 

“This is-” there’s a hitch in his breath as Boba smears the bead of precum around the tip before going back to stroking him. “This is nice.”

 

“Really?” Boba snorts. “What do you need- tell me.”

 

“R-rather show you.”

 

“Go on.”

 

Boba moves, grabbing both of their cocks in his hand, using the slick and precum to make it easier. Din feels good against him- he couldn’t see, but if he had to guess, the other man was just a tad longer, just like his own body- lean. Boba bucks again, the ankle hooked around the other man’s forcing him to rest a leg on his calf.

 

Din’s hand moves, resting against the hidden waistband… and then he’s pulling off his own gloves, before returning back. Boba stills, squeezing them together instinctively. Bare fingertips brushing against skin. The armour made it difficult for him to push the fabric higher- not like it stopped Din from sliding his palms up, ghosting Boba’s hips, one moving to go to his lower back, the other exploring his hip and lower stomach.

 

Boba couldn’t breathe. Din let out a long exhale, hand on Boba’s back flexing as he lowered his  helmet towards the other. The hand on his hip found a patch of dead nerves- and then the edges where Boba could feel everything.

 

“That’s it.” Din breathes, the vocoder breaking. “Keep going… please.”

 

Boba lets go. He doesn’t know what the sound he makes is- but it causes Din to dig his fingernails into his hip, pulling him in by the small of his back. Boba moves his own hand again, rough leather and slick and skin. Din moans, his own hips moving on their own accord now.

 

Boba clenches his jaw, has to remind himself to keep his tongue in his mouth in order to not bite it off. He joins, a growl forming in the back of his throat. His free hand reaches out, wrapping itself around the back of Din’s neck, squeezing.

 

Hair.

 

His fingers slip into hair, gripping it tightly. He gets a moan, low and guttural, in response.

 

“Fuck.” Din huffs.

 

Boba has to laugh at that, still feels Din exploring his front as that anchor to his lower back reaches lower still, thumb rubbing in small circles to the dimple on his back. The older bounty hunter gasps, his hips stilling just as Din picks up the pace.

 

“That’s it.” Boba says. “Fuck my hand, come on.”

 

Din whines , the leg that was on Boba’s calf moving higher, trapping him. The hand that had been exploring his stomach left- the contact was missed for just half a moment before it wrapped around Boba’s hand, joining him in jerking the two of them off.

 

Boba felt strong fingers intertwined with his own. His helmet was fogging up- he couldn’t even see the T-Visor of the other’s helmet anymore. He wanted to take it off- to take both of their helmets off. To sink his teeth into the neck he had in a grip, see the hair that was surely pressed and unkept underneath. Watch as eyes flutter shut, brows furrow and lips become swollen after he had them between his teeth. 

 

What does Din look like? 

 

Boba had no idea- he never cared before.

 

So what makes this different?

 

He could at least say he knew what the man sounded like- breaking underneath him, hips stuttering as he gasps, hips still moving against him as he cums, the way his hand shakes before squeezing just that much tighter around their cock heads. The moment that Boba felt he slowed down, he picked up the pace, chasing after his own release.

 

The hand on Boba’s lower back moved, fingers following his spine. Just at where it stopped, where his armour did not allow Din to go any further, he felt it. Fingernails digging into dead nerves- and causing Boba to feel that part of him after months of not being able to.

 

He cums. He slams his helmet against Din’s, the pure beskar singing against the durasteel of his own. He doesn’t catch any of it, and knows that there’s probably cum on both his and Din’s front. He doesn’t care, moaning and hoping that his own helmet’s vocoder catches it so that Din can’t hear him.

 

There’s a moment where they both try to catch their breaths. It’s Din who moves first, the hand on Boba’s spine leaving, pulling down Boba’s under armour before coming to rest over him again, a heavy sigh leaving his body.

 

“... Ow.” Din finally says.

 

Boba snorts.

 

“Your head okay?” Boba asks, voice gruff and raw.

 

“I think so.” Din responds, in that soft way he seems to talk. “What about yours?”

 

“Nothing I haven’t had before.”

 

“Hm.”

 

Neither move.

 

“... Did you want me to leave?” Din asks.

 

Boba doesn’t say anything, he just pulls the other man closer.

 

“Tuck me back in my pants, I’ll let you know after.”

 

“Bossy.” Din laughs.

 

“Shut up.” Boba snaps.

 

He feels those gentle hands move, doing as they were told. Boba hums, rolling onto his back, manhandling Din to rest on his side, grabbing the leg that had been over his hip to stay, his own thumb rubbing into the part where his thigh coverings and the flightsuit met.

 

“Go to sleep.” Boba slurs, forcing a yawn out. “We’ll be joining the others after.”

 

“... Good night, Boba Fett.”

 

Boba’s eyes snap open as he feels Din’s breathing even out.

 

Panic set in. 

 

He should do what Fennec said- leave. Kick the other man out of his room and clean the front of his armor. Roll over and push down whatever this was that was crawling up his throat, tearing through his gut.

 

He was dying- or going crazy. Again.

 

He did not fall asleep at all. Din, however, slept until it was time for him and the others to go.

Chapter 10: A Father's Legacy

Boba Fett was two parsecs away from where he had left them, staring out the cockpit window. He had his helmet off- he rarely took it off when there were others.

 

Fennec was an exception. She was… his friend. He snorts, thumping his head back against the chair, looking out at the expanse of nothingness.

 

“Friend… yeah, right.”

 

He was a meal ticket- she was a second pair of eyes. He didn’t have friends. He never needed them. Allies, sure. But not friends.

 

And yet…

 

Somehow the sniper had wormed her way into his life, and he had let it happen. He had heard of people bonding over loss, over apex predators having to pair up in order to not to get picked off by lesser animals. That was one way to describe their situation.

 

What about taking out Bib Fortuna? Becoming ‘Kings’, like you said on Naboo.

 

That would take planning. They could do it, the two of them. Enough skill, and coin, they could just walk right into that lair and take out Bib. He rubbed at his face, already thinking on what he would do-

 

His glove smelled like sex.

 

Boba pauses, eyes fluttering shut.

 

It’s Din. My name is Din Djarin.

 

Din… his beskar stranger. The only reason he wasn’t sitting on a throne in Tatooine right now.

 

Boba opens his eyes again, staring out at space. That was another person who’s seen his face rather recently.

 

And often.

 

“... what the hell am I doing.” he asks.

 

He has yet to move his glove away from his face. The worn leather catches on the scarring just by his cheek, the same scar that has molded his ear to the side of his skull. Boba stretches his legs, resting the prosthetic one up, tests the slide of the ankle ball and how much he can move it with the boot still on.

 

Fennec was ambitious- Din was loyal.

 

A deadly combination that Boba never had in his life.

 

He never had ambition. Just vengeance. Just this burning pit in his gut that kept pushing him forward- but it was not ambition.

 

He was never loyal. He did a job, he got paid, and that was it. It was just that the Empire paid better and often- that was all there was to it. But Din… he went against that, took on a hit as a foundling.

 

Would his father have done the same?

 

Boba can feel him sometimes. In the ship, creaking and chugging along, the baritone and low rumbles soothing as it rocked him to sleep now, as it had when he was younger. In his armour, wrapped around his chest and back, keeping him protected even when he wasn’t watching. In his hands, that took apart and re-built his EE-3 blaster together so many times, mind wandering so he could pretend it wasn’t his own hands- it was his father’s. Showing him the mechanics and inner workings without a sound.

 

Or he had been able to.

 

Nowadays it was… harder to do so. To find the parts of his father in himself.

 

Jango Fett did not have loyalty- loyalty put him in chains, had him stripped of his armour, which in turn stripped him of everything that made him an individual. Ambition killed his people- Ambition is what causes people like Kryze to wipe every note, every piece, every memory of his father’s people, of their legacy.

 

Ambition led to the first Death Star- and it was blown apart by that same ambition.

 

Loyalty was what allowed the Empire to exist- and it stripped every other clone of their individuality. It tore through the galaxy… all in the name of loyalty.

 

He hated these traits.

 

And yet…

 

Fennec was loyal to him. Somehow.

 

Din had the ambition to go after a child that, if it was Boba, the child would have been marked as dead the moment he got the job.

 

Din was loyal to a Creed that forced him to be isolated- a perverse and twisted version of his ba-buir’s legacy. And he wore it well , like it was an honor- a real honor, not some chromed up pile of bantha fodder.

 

Fennec was ambitious, wanted to take over Tatooine. But there was more to it- she knew she could do it. She knew she could take it, so long as someone was beside her… and she decided that person was Boba.

 

What the hell did he offer?

 

Anger.

 

Power.

 

… Focus?

 

He pulls at his lower lip, catches a whiff of his glove again. He sneers slamming his hand down on his thigh.

 

“... What the fuck am I doing here?”

 

He doesn’t recognize his voice.

 

It’s broken, questioning. Like when he was younger… and yet…

 

There’s a gruffness that only comes from age. From yelling and screaming at nothing and everyone. From living the life he had- pushing every single person who tried to show him kindness away. He had learned that lesson early on- No one offered kindness without wanting something in return.

 

Fennec wants an empire- To be Kingpin of the criminal underworld. Boba could give that to her- especially if it meant he could sit on the throne once or twice.

 

But Din…

 

What the hell did Din want ?

 

His child? A ship? Boba was only guessing.

 

Are you a Jedi?

 

Boba can feel his fingernails dig into the palm of his hand, even through the leather.

 

First words that bastard ever spoke to him- and asked him if he was the one thing he hates more than… 

 

Than himself.

 

And yet…

 

A Jedi would have been able to pull out exactly what it was that Din wanted from Boba. And if he had the answer, it would make everything that much easier. He could move forward, towards a goal.

 

He could focus again.

 

Fennec was easy- kill Bib Fortuna and become a King.

 

But Din... Din Djarin, his beskar stranger…

 

“... What the hell do you want from me?” Boba asks, a whimper barely kept in check.

 

The ship does not answer back.

 

As much as it would hum and echo, it never answered him. Boba closes his eyes again, still exhausted. He had not gotten any sleep- how could he? Din… accepted him. So easily. Who does that?

 

He does. Some desperate and broken child thinks.

 

Boba feels bile rise in his throat, sitting up in his seat, rubbing at his eyes in order to force the exhaustion to just. Go. Away.

 

He remembers at the end of the Clone Wars, how he had sought out… something. He had found that ‘cult’- the Children of the Watch. They took him in… right up until they learned he was a clone.

 

And then they beat him, demanding he tell them where Jaster Mereel’s real legacy was. So he killed them all in his anger. He waited until dusk came, covered in mud and with nothing but a knife- and he killed the Alor .

He remembers pushing the vibroblade in between the helmet and the flightsuit they wore, watching as the blood spat right back in his face as he sawed off the head, back and forth. Back and forth. How he grabbed their buy’ce and stuffed it full of so many explosives, like he had done on that Star Destroyer, nearly a year and also a lifetime ago.

 

How he tossed it right in the middle of their bonfire as they broke their fast at dawn, watching as they were all blindsided. As he took the sniper blaster from the trees and picked them off one by one. How he took the paints, took the colors that his father had once worn and painted the armour for the first time, mud and blood coating every inch of his body. But the armour was clean- was finally complete.

 

What would Din think? 

 

If he knew that that was the reason that his little Creed did not like Boba? Not because he was a clone, but because he was a murderer? Because he was shunned and banished for something that was not his fault- it was never his fault. He was Jango’s son- so what if he was also a clone?

 

Boba was different- he had to be. Otherwise… Why was he chosen? Why him, out of millions?

 

Then you’re not a clone. You’re Boba Fett.

 

Boba opens his eyes again, looking out into space from the cockpit.

 

“... I am Boba Fett.” he whispers. “I am… Boba Fett…”

 

His comm pings. He picks it up.

 

“Fett.” he snaps, clearing his throat.

 

“... Come and get us.” Fennec’s voice sounds tired. “Before Kryze wakes up.”

 

“What happened?” he asks, already punching in the coordinates. 

 

“... You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. You’ll just have to see.”

 

“On my way.”

 

---

 

Boba docks, opening the hatch with his helmet secured back on his head. And what he ends up seeing…

 

The marshal drags an unconscious Moff Gideon onto his ship, finds the holding cell and throws him in it before slumping down in the chair next to it, black hair covering half her face, eyes screwed shut the moment she was sitting down.

 

Fennec followed, her own blaster on her back. She glanced a look at Boba, moving past him and straight towards the cockpit, blaster residue and sweat staining her face…

 

And Din Djarin followed closely behind her.

 

Without his helmet on.

 

Boba felt his breathing stop.

 

Din’s head was bowed low, dark brown curls and face tucked into the front of his cowl, spear in one hand and his helmet tucked in the other. Boba also heard it- the sound of a hilt against armour. When his beskar stranger was inside he closed the hatch door, walking close behind him.

 

He saw the darksaber hilt as Din took the stairs and went straight to the spare room.

 

Boba went the opposite direction- straight for the cockpit where he knew he would find Fennec.

 

“What. Happened.” he growled, taking over from Fennec’s shaking hands and moving the ship away from the cruiser.

 

“... A Jedi is what happened.” Fennec says, staring straight ahead. “His mission was to get that kid to its own kind.”

 

“What the fuck does that-”

 

“His kid was a Jedi.” Fennec says, voice distant.

 

Boba felt his blood run cold as the ship went into hyperspace.

 

“He… he took his helmet off for the kid.” Fennec says. “And… he hasn’t put it back on since.”

 

“... Why not.” Boba says.

 

“His Creed.”

 

There’s a heavy pause.

 

“... Take control of the ship.” he says.

 

“Where are you going?” she asks.

 

Boba stops, his back to Fennec.

 

“... He shouldn’t be alone.” Boba finally says. “I don’t want another corpse on my ship for a while.”

 

Fennec stares at his back. Then he hears her turn her chair, a heavy sigh leaving.

 

“Go.” she says. “And then… we’ll plan.”

 

“... Right.”

 

He leaves.

Chapter 11: A Condition and A Request

Boba opened the door to the spare room- Din wasn’t there. He had to close his eyes, felt his jaw jumping. He moved further down, towards his own door. He nearly knocked- but this was his ship. He opens the door.

 

He saw Din, still dressed in his armour, his helmet resting on the floor with the spear, the darksaber tossed onto the trunk that held Boba’s jetpack. He was faced away from him, curled in the bunk and staring at the wall.

 

Boba stepped inside, closing the door. Din curled in on himself, the dark curls shifting as his forehead gently thunked against the wall. Boba felt his anger drain out of him at that action. He let out a heavy sigh, moving to sit on the bunk, facing the room, away from Din, resting his forearms on his knees.

 

“... I let him go.” Din whispers.

 

“I heard.” Boba says.

 

“I can’t train him- I don’t…”

 

Boba flexed his hand, rubbing into the palm of it. Better than reaching behind and beating the shit out of the other man.

 

“I don’t know that Jedi stuff.” Din says, defeated.

 

“... I know.” is all Boba is able to muster.

 

“I broke my Creed-”

 

“No. No you didn’t.” Boba snaps.

 

He doesn’t have to turn around to know that Din curled further in on himself. It had been years… but Boba remembers the words.

 

“ Ba’jur, beskar’gam .” he starts. “ Ara’nov, aliit… Mand’a bal Mand’alor. An Vencuyan Mhi .”

 

There’s a heavy pause.

 

“ Ba’jur, Beskar’gam .” Din repeats. “ Ara’nov, aliit… Mand’a bal Mand’alor. An Vencuyan…  Mhi .”

 

“If you know the words then you should know it doesn’t matter what order they go in.” Boba says. “You did what was right for the kid- Aliit . He’ll be able to survive if he’s taught- Ba’jur .”

 

A long pause.

 

“Right?” Boba snaps, turning his head, looking over his shoulder.

 

The figure in his bunk slowly nods, dark curls shifting ever so slightly.

 

“Good.” Boba grabs the pure beskar helmet and shoves it into Din’s shoulders before standing up. “Then put it on.”

 

Boba has to take a deep breath, knows that he’s shaking. But he hears Din move, the soft click and hiss of the helmet going back on over his head. The sound of Din standing up from the bunk. The moment he does, Boba turns and throws a punch into Din’s stomach.

 

The other man doubles over, his grip on Boba’s elbow nearly crushing, the other going to a hidden blade and instinctively moving to press the metal against Boba’s throat. But Boba’s already pulled a blaster, shoving it up into Din’s chin, forcing the T-Visor to stare down at him.

 

An impasse.

 

“You want to feel sorry for yourself, do it on your own fucking time.” Boba growls. “But so long as you are on my ship, and sleeping in my bunk, I won’t tolerate it. Suvarir ?”

 

“... Elek .” Din says, voice finally, finally , having an edge since…. Since Boba met the man.

 

“Get that knife off me.” Boba growls.

 

“You have a blaster in my throat.” Din snaps.

 

“... Same time.”

 

It took a five count, but they both eventually put their weapons away. Boba took a heavy breath, crossing his arms and staring at Din.

 

“So… what now?” Boba asks.

 

“We can drop Cara and Gideon off on Nevarr. We can at least get some credits for turning him in. It should be enough for a new ship- ”

 

“Which you need.”

 

“... Yes, and then…”

 

“... Then?”

 

The T-Visor stared right at Boba’s own. And then down, staring first at the spear, then the darksaber.

 

“... I don’t know.” Din whispers.

 

“... Ship first.” Boba says.

 

“Ship first.” Din nods, looking back at Boba.

 

“Right.” Boba turned on his heel, slamming the button that let the door open. “Best get your Marshal ready, we’ll reach Nevarro in a few hours.”

 

---

 

Fennec said nothing when Boba came back up, the jump to Nevarro already in progress. He kept his helmet on, sitting down and resting his hands on the controls. The silence was their way- words wasted were words hated. But… eventually the silence got to her.

 

“How did it go with Mando?” she asks.

 

“Fine.” Boba says. “He’s wearing it again.”

 

He didn’t have to say what ‘it’ was.

 

“Good.” Fennec rolls her neck. “He’s ugly when he cries.”

 

“...”

 

“... You never got a look at his face, did you?”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

She smirks, leaning back in her chair.

 

“Not missing much.” She takes a deep breath. “He might just be ugly.”

 

“Like you would know.”

 

“Hm,” she snorts. “He’s not my type.”

 

“... You have a type?” he asks, turning his helmet to look at her.

 

“I do.” she casts a side-eye at him. “Soft. And not in our profession.”

 

“... Huh.” he turns back.

 

“... Dancers are always fun.” she muses.

 

“Please stop talking.”

 

“Trying to make time pass.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“You have one?”

 

“One what?”

 

“A type.”

 

“Competent.”

 

“Hilarious.”

 

“I’m being serious.”

 

“I know. It’s sad.”

 

He moves his head so she knows he was giving her a look underneath the helmet. She just stared right back, one eyebrow raised. He actually lets out an honest to stars chuckle when she winks, the smirk blooming into a smile.

 

“So what’s next?” she says.

 

“Get the bounty for Gideon… and become Kings.” he says.

 

“Good. And Mando?”

 

He grips the controls, not saying anything. Fennec notices- how could she not.

 

“... An extra set of hands could be useful.”  Fennec says.

 

“He’s in no state to help.” Boba snaps.

 

“I’ve seen him work,” Fennec snaps back. “He went against a Dark Trooper, on his own… He’s falling apart, Boba. He needs a distraction.”

 

“... I am not offering.” Boba eventually says.

 

“Why?” Fennec asks. “You think he’ll say no if you do?”

 

Boba keeps quiet.

 

“... I’ll do it then.” Fennec says. “After we get paid.”

 

“Fine.” Boba says.

 

---

 

He watched from his ship as Fennec, the marshal, and Din walked Gideon into town. It took a few hours, long enough for the sun to have started to set before Din and Fennec walked back, Fennec holding a credit case.

 

Fennec walked past him, straight into the ship. Boba stood up, blocking the way as Din came up the plank. He stopped a few steps away, looking up at Boba.

 

“... Fennec offered for me to join your crew.” Din says, his voice back to that soft tone, the one that meant his mind wasn’t wandering. “I agreed- but I have a condition.”

 

“She told you what the job was?” Boba counters.

 

“No.”

 

“Did you ask?”

 

“No.”

 

“Dangerous.”

 

“When is it not?”

 

Boba actually smiles at that.

 

“What’s the condition?” Boba asks.

 

“You help me get rid of the Darksaber.”

 

“... Kryze?”

 

“Kryze… and others, possibly.”

 

Boba nods, adjusting his grip on his blaster.

 

“Deal.” Boba finally says.

 

“... I have a request.” Din says, after not moving.

 

“Name it.” Boba says.

 

“... If I need help focusing…” Din clears his throat. “I can come to you. No questions asked.”

 

Boba is thankful his helmet is able to hide the way he reacts.

 

“Fine- but it goes both ways.” Boba says. 

 

“Deal.” Din says.

 

Boba steps to the side, letting Din walk up.

 

“Welcome aboard… Din Djarin.” Boba says.

 

He catches the way Din’s chest moves as he walks into Slave I . That feeling from before is back- the one he couldn’t quite place.

 

Boba Fett was starting to think that it was a little bit stronger than anger- but he still couldn’t be so sure.

Chapter 12: A Small Bounty

Notes:

If this reads familiar- it's b/c I had published this and the next chapter under 'A Damn Good Hunter'- there were changes done for that one shot but it was originally part of this story.

Somehow, Boba’s safehouses that he had scattered around the galaxy were still standing- and more importantly, word had gotten out that he was, in fact, still alive.

 

Turns out picking a fight with a goon of Kryze in a random bar in the Outer Rim did more for spreading the word of his return than, oh, taking down a Battle Cruiser or even saving Fennec’s life.

 

They needed to bide their time, let the rumours either wither and die… or grow to the point that people would hear his and Fennec’s name and come crawling to them , rather than the other way around.

 

Thankfully, Fennec’s ‘death’ was only a few weeks, rather than his five years. So she was able to contact a few leads, start making connections quicker than him.

 

Five years.

 

He still tried to wrap his head around that- he was gone for five whole years, tortured in the pit of the Sarlacc. He had changed while in there- it was unclear by how much though. First it was saving Fennec- and now…

 

Boba rubbed at his neck, standing on the balcony of the safehouse, overlooking the Pantora skyline. It was midday- the market underneath bustling with hagglers. He heard the soft footsteps of Din behind him. The man did not wear spurs- not like Boba. But it took years to learn how to be quiet with them.

 

“... Fennec left.” Din says, leaning on the doorframe.

 

“Hm.” Boba grunts, pulling down the visor on his helmet, scanning down below.

 

“Looking for a target?”

 

Boba paused.

 

“Have a puck for one?” he asks.

 

“Picked it up while getting supplies.” Din says, moving to stand next to Boba.

 

Boba turns, looking at the puck and the info holo.

 

“Rodian- name is Candri Dechap. Got in some trouble with the New Republic on account of fighting rings in the Mid-Core.”

 

“Not a high bounty.”

 

“But it’s something to do.”

 

Boba hums. It used to be that such a small bounty wouldn’t be worth his time. He would wait it out, or possibly haggle for something higher… 

 

But Din needed something to do- that was clear enough.

 

“Fine, you take the lead.” Boba looks up at Din’s helmet.

 

The pure beskar nods, moving inside.

 

“He’s down in the 17th district, I was able to get a speeder. There’s a Guild post in the 20th so we won’t have to lug him around that much.”

 

Boba watches as Din goes to grab the spear… but not the darksaber. Boba moves to grab his blaster, checking the locks and his cameras before following Din.

 

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

If this was how Din wanted to forget about his kid, then so be it. Better than some of the things Boba’s done in the past.

 

---

 

The Rodian was built.

 

It was actually absurd, to a point.

 

And then there was the fact that he had three guards, all of them fighters just like he was.

 

Boba somehow ended up squaring off against Candri, the twin spines on his skull a shade of purple that was offset by his grey skin and prosthetic left eye. A shot to his hip and then snapping his opposite arm did enough- but smashing his head first into the table before it cracked from the force and then again into the steel grating underneath knocked him out. Boba was in the process of throwing cuffs on Candri when he looked up to see how Din was going.

 

Din had the spear in one hand, a blaster in the other. He fired a few rounds into one of the guards, dropping them to the ground. A Gamorrean with a vibroaxe came squealing, hitting the spear. It sang on impact, Din sidestepping before swinging the spear across the back of the green basatard’s head- but not before the smaller companion jumped onto Din’s shoulders and covered his visor.

 

Boba watched as the Aleena started to scream in it’s small voice, the longer skull covered with a metal brace carved with a face on it. Din held the spear in both hands, still blocking the Gamorrean’s attacks. After a few moments, Din activated his vambrace- the whistle birds flew out, some hitting the larger sentient in the face while most attacked the smaller reptilian on his shoulders.

 

It was enough time for Din to reach up and yank the Aleena off, hitting the Gamorrean with his companion. Boba felt Candri stir underneath him. Without looking, he shocked the Rodian in the temple, smoke coming off his body as he went unconscious again.

 

Boba looked up in time to see Din parry the vibroaxe once more before.

 

SCHUNK

 

The Gamorean screamed out in pain as the spear lodged itself in their chest. Din was completely silent. The Aleena, after having finally gotten back up, jumped back in surprise, shouting in its native tongue before running somewhere. Boba pulled out the gun and shot at the smaller reptilian- and the blast bolt vaporized them.

 

Din used his vambrace to block the vibro axe wild swing, the weapon dropping to the ground as the Gamoreean went to grab the spear and actually pushed itself forward. This caused Din to slide a few inches- but then he flicked his other vambrace, the flamethrower aimed directly at the green pig’s face.

 

Even with the filters in his helmet, Boba knew the smell of burnt skin and flesh. And watching as Din blinded him, yanking the spear out before spinning it enough to gain momentum… and the spray of red blood against the unmarked beskar as Din cut the fighter’s throat. The gurgle and wild hand grabs.

 

Din pulled out his blaster and shot once into the hole in the gut left by the spear, two into the chest, and another for good measure into an eye socket.

 

The Gamorrean fell backward from the impact. Din was in a half crouch, facing away from Boba. There was a heavy pause before Din shifts, standing up and holstering his gun before facing Boba.

 

“You okay?” Din asks.

 

Boba was never more grateful for his helmet than he was now. He knew his mouth was open. He knew that seeing Din just kill a man so violently did… something to him. And then he spoke with that soft tone, the one that Boba was still unsure about.

 

All the older hunter can do is nod, letting Din help him pick up the target from the ground, the two of them walking him outside and watching as Din draped a blanket over his unconscious form, tying him to the back of the speeder.

 

“Less stares.” was all Din had said.

 

Boba would have never bothered- but Din did it as if it was as easy as breathing. He got in the front seat, turning the speeder on. Boba didn’t dare put his back to the target, pressing his back instead to Din’s, aiming his blaster at Candri as they drove through the streets to the Guild post.

 

He kept replaying the fight over and over. The brutality, the effectiveness.

 

Din was a hunter.

 

Din was a damn good hunter.

 

Boba had let him untie Candri from the back of the speeder, watched as Din moved him near effortlessly and walked into the Guild post, only to come back out with a handful of credits and a bag of fruit. He had remained on the back of the speeder, facing away from Din. 

 

It was a near silent trip as they went back to Boba’s safehouse. Din had parked the speeder, moving to get off, already looking lighter.

 

Din is a damn good hunter.

 

Boba still hadn’t moved. Not even when Din came to stand in front of him, tossing the credits into his lap as he pulled out one of the fruits, turning it in his gloved hands.

 

“... We could also just grill it, I guess.” Din was talking, had been for some time. “Though, I’m not sure if that would be better than just-”

 

“ Beroya .” Boba says.

 

His own voice sounds wrecked to his ears.

 

Din paused, looking at him, the T-Visor still stained with blood.

 

“Fett.” Din responds back.

 

“You-” he clears his throat. “You did good.”

 

“... It was a small bounty.” Din counters. “But it was nice to have back up.”

 

Boba nods.

 

And then he moves, crowding Din into the doorframe, hands moving to the other’s waist, pressing his helmet into the crook of Din’s pauldron and helmet, as close he can to the other’s neck with the both of them in armour.

 

“You did good.” Boba growls. “Three against one- you were good .”

 

He cups the other hunter through his pants. The gasp would have been lost to the vocoders, but pressed up against each other like this, One arm around Boba’s back, the other draped across his shoulder as Din bucks ever so gently against Boba’s hand.

 

Everything Din does with Boba is gentle.

 

And yet he killed that Gamorrean with such violence. There had been nothing gentle about it.

 

Boba slammed the  button to open the door, grabbing Din by the shoulders and shoving him inside. Din walked backwards, putting the fruit on the counter. But then Boba was pushing him into said counter, crowding into his space, yanking his own helmet off before slamming it down. A rough hand at the back of Din’s neck, forcing him to bend down, Boba already working on his belt with the other, shoving his hand down the front of Din’s pants.

 

Boba had no idea he was rambling underneath his breath until Din was chanting back, neck arched just enough for Boba to find the bare skin and sink his teeth into it, feeling the younger man grow hard underneath his palm.

 

“My room.” Boba says, breathing heavily into Din’s neck. “Gonna fuck you- do you want that? Want to be good for me again?”

 

“Yes.” Din pants, nodding, the beskar bumping against Boba’s temple as he did so. “Yes, please. I can be good.”

 

“Go.”

 

Boba moves away, watches as his beskar stranger practically bolts for the room, the torn cape the last thing he sees as he hears the door hiss open and then shut.

 

Boba leans against the counter, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. And then another one. When he opened his eyes again, he stalked over to the door, leaving his helmet on the counter with the fruit.

Notes:

Ironically, in the show, Boba Fett never sees Din Djarin actually fight anything... lol.

Chapter 13: NSFW- Good Boy

Boba opened the door to see that Din was pulling off the beskar, flight suit half undone but his helmet still secure on his head. One leg up as he struggled to take his boot off, thigh plating that clicks against the vambrace.

 

Din freezes, half-crouched as Boba takes a step forward before shutting the door, arms crossed as he leans back on it.

 

“... Fett.”

 

“Djarin.” Boba tilts his head just so. “Why did you stop?”

 

“I-” he looks down at himself. “I… don’t know.”

 

“Get comfortable.” Boba says, taking a deep breath. “Whatever helps.”

 

There’s a pause. And then the frantic energy that Din had was gone, the man sitting down on the edge of the bed, taking off his armour. Boba’s eyes roam over to where his plating was- on the floor haphazardly. He grunts, getting up and taking the pieces of pure beskar, moving over to the trunk and placing them gently inside.

 

Pure beskar deserved respect- his own armour was a blend, durasteel and beskar only on the chest plate. But Din… his armour was worth more. Much more. Boba turned and snapped his fingers. Din handed over the rest, the flight suit unzipped and revealing his neck, the helmet the only thing left outside of that. Boba put the rest away, closing it shut before turning to face the other man.

 

One step, gloved hand reaching out. Another step, crowding into Din’s space, one hand tilting his head up, finger curled at where his chin and the helmet met, the gap just enough for Boba’s gloved finger to brush against Din’s bottom lip.

 

The reaction is immediate, the firm grip on Boba's wrist, squeezing tightly as his head tilts back. The visual rise in the other man’s chest is a stark contrast to the now white knuckle grasp.

 

“It stays on.” Din says, rushed and afraid. “The helmet… I want it on.”

 

“... Lay back.” Boba says, voice still rough. “What about the suit?”

 

Din shrugs, moving back on his hands, legs kept wide apart.

 

“Can always get a new one.” Din says.

 

That lights a fire deep in Boba’s gut. Still in his own armour, his helmet the one thing missing, Boba wraps a hand around Din’s ankle as he climbs onto the bed. His other hand moves to the other man’s waist. Sliding up, across the small bit of chest he can see… wrapping fingers around Din’s throat, vambrace pressed against the other’s chest as Boba lowers himself down.

 

Boba takes a deep breath, flexing his fingers, and finds the other’s pulse point. That gentle hand is back, on Boba’s wrist, but instead of trying to stop him, it rests there, anchoring the two together. Boba rolls his hips forward.

 

Din rolls his right back, head tilting back just so. Boba can feel Din’s Adam's apple bob underneath his palm. Boba smiles- he knows it’s probably a sneer on his face.

 

“Good boy.” he whispers.

 

Din shudders, one leg coming up, knee rubbing against Boba’s hip before hooking around the other’s ankle.

 

“Please.” Din says, vocoder barely catching his voice. “Use me.”

 

Use me.

 

Boba let’s go of Din’s ankle in order to grip his hip, head falling down in the crook of Din’s neck. He rolls his hips again, feels Din underneath him.

 

Strong.

 

Pliable.

A Hunter.

But Soft.

 

It makes no damn sense for DIn Djarin to exist.

 

And yet…

 

“I’m gonna fucking destroy you.” Boba growls, panting into the side of Din’s neck. “Break you until there’s nothing left.”

 

“Yes.” Din shudders, the leg hooked over Boba’s leg going higher, using the leverage to buck up against Boba. “Please.”

 

“Is that what you want?” Boba sneers, scraping his teeth against what the flight suit didn’t cover. “You want to break for me? Till there’s nothing left?”

 

“Please… I- I need it.”

 

“Say it.” Boba lifts his head, squeezing Din’s throat just so. “ Say. It. ”

 

“Break me.” Din pants, his other hand finally shooting out, wrapping around the back of Boba’s neck. “Nothing left- nothing but you.”

 

Boba’s vambrace activates, the blades hidden underneath coming out. In a flash, Boba lets go of Din’s hip, bringing the blades against the flight suit. The grip on the other man’s throat tightened, forcing Din to lean back instead of curling in on himself.

Boba slashes through the rough fabric, using his hand to pull and rip at the material, until it was hanging off of Din’s shoulders. He growls as Din struggles underneath him, his free leg kicking out and being brought up against the vambrace blades. The pant leg catches, ripping the fabric before Boba retracts the weapon, using his full weight to force Din to stop moving.

 

He rolls his hips lazily, humming low and deep in his chest as Din hisses at the contact of Boba’s armour against his bare skin. Boba takes the time to bring his free hand up to his mouth, taking his glove off with his teeth before tossing it to the side.

 

The scars from the Sarlaac were everywhere- but the calluses from years of bounty hunting are hard to get rid of. Boba leans forward, mocking Din as he shushes him, bare skin on bare skin, catching on the cauterized wounds the other hunter had, the hair on his chest catching on Boba’s dry hand.

 

Din moans- Boba laughs, his hand finding a nipple before digging a fingernail into it. The reaction is incredible- Din tries to throw Boba off, the hand wrapped around his throat stopping him as it squeezes. Din adjusts his grip on Boba’s neck, hitting him in the head, the beskar hard enough for Boba to have to grit his teeth at the impact.

 

“You gonna fight me like you fought that pig?” Boba snaps, fingernails dragging hard against Din’s chest. “You want to kill me?”

 

“N-No.” Din’s hand on the back of Boba’s neck moves, soft and caring and thumb stroking the skin just behind his ear. “I don’t want…”

 

“Want what?” Boba says. “ This ?”

 

He rolls his hips again, feels Din hard underneath him. Knows that Din can feel him too.

 

“Yes- No! I- I want-”

 

“What do you want, Mandalorian !?”

 

“You!”

 

Boba lets out a short bark, sitting up finally, ripping the flight suit off Din completely, the tear from before on the pant leg letting him slip the entire thing off in one short, rough, yank. It left Din in just his underwear. Boba activated the vambrace again, the blades catching the light just so, reflecting on Din’s helmet.

 

“Take it off.” Boba says. “Or I will.”

 

Din pauses for just a moment. 

 

A moment is enough. 

 

Boba growls, brings the blade down on the same leg, knows he pricks Din’s skin and draws blood as he cuts the material just enough to rip it apart, throwing it the same way as the ruined flight suit. Just as Din moves his own hands to stop Boba, he moves faster.

 

He has the other hunter’s wrist in one hand, the vambrace with the blades attached pressed just so underneath Din’s chin. Din stills, trying, and failing, to even his breathing. Boba looks right at the T-Visor.

 

Was the other man scared of him yet?

 

Was he rethinking all of this?

 

What would finally make this beskar stranger want to get up and walk away from Boba- like everyone else he thought he cared about has done to him?

 

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

Boba took a deep breath, in through his nose, out through his mouth.

 

“Are you going to fight me?” Boba says. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

 

Din stays quiet.

 

“Djarin.” Boba snaps. “I need an answer. Now.”

 

“... Fuck me.” Din says. “Please… Fuck me.”

 

Boba smiles, retracting the blades again before grabbing Din’s thigh.

 

“Nicked you.” Boba sighs, squeezing at the wound. “That’s what happens when you don’t do as you're told.”

 

Din whines, his body shivers as his head tips back. Boba lets go of his wrists, pulling off his glove and moving to the vambraces.

 

“Belt.” Boba snaps.

 

Din moves immediately, shaking hands on the older hunter’s belt, undoing it and pulling it off. Then they were underneath, gentle hands moving to pull Boba out of his pants. By the time that Boba has his vambraces off, tossed to the ground and thunking against the rug, he grabs Din again, moving so the other man wraps his legs around his waist. Din moves his arms to wrap around Boba’s neck and back, cool beskar against Boba’s forehead. Boba wraps his hand around both of their cocks, squeezing just so before setting a lazy pace.

 

He knows he’s edging himself and Din. He can be patient- but Din’s own patience is wearing thin. He can hear the other man’s desperation, the vocoder only able to do so much.

 

“You want more?” Boba teases.

 

“Yes.” Din pants- no, he whines . “Please.”

 

“Then fuck my hand.” Boba growls, moving his head away, teeth and tongue on the side of Din’s neck. “Or you’ll never get to cum.”

 

Boba bites down. Hard.

 

He feels Din rise up, bare chest against Boba’s armour, what little of Boba’s own neck left exposed feeling the pinprick of Din’s fingernails. The visible body shudder as Boba slows his hand down, pressing his upper body into Din, groaning as he lets go and swipes at the bite mark in the other hunter’s shoulder.

 

Din moves his legs, ankles crossed and legs squeezing Boba’s hips. And there it is- Din moving against Boba’s cock and hand, doing what he was told. Fucking Boba’s hand. Boba moans, pushing himself up on his elbow, looking down and watching Din work. The hard lines of muscle, the scars on his body that stretch and pull. The other man’s thighs begin to shake from the exertion.

 

“Close-” Din pants. “ ‘M close- shit!”

 

Din’s leg slips, sweat making him collapse just as he was getting close. Boba picks up, looking back up at the T-Visor.

 

“That was good.” Boba slurs, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You did good .”

 

The panting, the rapid rise of Din’s chest. The bruising that was already forming around his throat and the bite mark on his shoulder. The emotionless T-Visor staring right back at him.

 

“So good for me, Beroya . So g-”

 

Boba cums.

 

He gasps, unaware how close he actually was- but then Din’s hand, those forsaken gentle hands, move, thumb rubbing against Boba’s bottom lip. And then Din cums, painting them both in it. Somehow Boba is still stroking them both, dragging it out.

 

Din is the first to hiss, pushing away Boba’s hand from thier cocks. It forces Boba to realize his cock had started to grow soft a while now, collapsing on his side next to Din, arm still slung over the other hunter.

 

After Boba finally catches his breath, he opens his eyes. Din’s helmet is staring up at the ceiling.

 

“... You tore up my flight suit.” Din finally says.

 

“I’ll get you a new one.” Boba slurs, grunting as he sits up, swinging his legs so he could stand up from the bed.

 

The moment he tries, he falls back down. The prosthetic leg was still in the boot- but that didn’t stop him from cursing at it. Boba hears Din chuckling, before letting out a long sigh. Boba snorts, shaking his head.

 

And then he feels Din rest a hand on the small of Boba’s back. The other hunter freezes.

 

“Stay.” Din says.

 

Boba… can’t . Because if he stays then that would mean something- right ?

 

“Pretty sure if you go out there, Fennec will give you hell.” Din says, teasingly.

 

“It’s my damn house.” Boba says before thinking, spite now fueling him as he stood up. “Wait here- I’ll get the fruit.”

 

---

 

Fennec was sitting on the couch, one of the fruit now cut up and a piece being put in her mouth as she heard the door to Boba’s room open and shut. She turned her head to look at Boba.

 

No gloves, no vambraces… and no belt.

 

She smirks, watches as he grabs the bag of fruit, counting it before his head swivels over to her.

 

They both stare at each other.

 

She raises an eyebrow, motioning with her eyes at the door.

 

Boba’s jaw jumps, the man sneering at her as he stomps back, grabbing some water as well.

 

“Don’t forget your helmet.” She says, looking back down at her datapad.

 

There’s another pause. And then she hears him muttering Huttese curses before the distinctive hiss of a helmet being put on over his head. And then the door opens and shuts after him.

 

Fennec tries to hold the laugh until after he is gone.

 

She fails.

 

Boba hears her.

Notes:

Jango had knives in his vambraces in AotC- I wanted to bring those back for Boba.

Chapter 14: Planning

Planning was… long. But necessary. And they would jump between different systems, visiting old allies, older enemies, and contacts of all kinds.

 

Taking over the Palace was one thing- making sure that Fortuna felt it and the transition was smooth was another.

 

Boba Fett sat at the small table on Slave I , Fennec across from him with various pads, papers, and a map of the Palace. Din was… somewhere.

 

A cup of caf was put down by Fennec’s elbow, another in front of Boba. Din pulled over a chair, quiet as he held his own mug, steam rising from it. Boba took his cup, grabbing the feeding tube from a small pouch before putting it in, drinking while keeping his helmet on.

 

Fennec didn’t flinch- but Din’s own helmeted head tilted to the side, like Boba had grown a second head.

 

“What?” Boba snaps.

 

“Nothing.” Din says.

 

Fennec and Boba then watched as Din tilted his helmet back just enough to take a sip of the caf before pulling it back down, leaning forward and pointing at the map.

 

“What about coming in through here?” he asks.

 

“The Rancor pit?” Fennec says. “No, after Skywalker killed it, Fortuna had it sealed.”

 

“Hm… What about the front door?”

“Suicide.” Boba says.

 

“Maybe…” Din tilts his helmet back down after a second sip, head cocked to the side. “Unless you take out his guards with a sniper first, and have a man on the inside.”

 

Fennec casts a side glance at Boba before speaking.

 

“Have you ever been to Jabba’s Palace, Mando?” Fennec asks.

 

“No, I was never invited. Granted,” Din shrugs “Most of my time on Tatooine was… in the Dune Sea.”

 

“With the Sand People?”

 

“Tuskens.” Din corrects her. “They’re called Tuskens. And yes. My Alor was once one of them, before she became the Smith for my Tribe.”

 

“... Huh.” Boba grunts.

 

“What is it?” Din looks up at him, holding his mug of caf to his chest.

 

“Say you get on the inside, what then?”

 

“I can take care of the guards on the other side of the door.” Din says.

 

“And risk Bib Fortuna siccing the rest of his guards on you?” Fennec smirks. “Awfully risky.”

 

“Do you have a better idea?” Din asks.

 

“Yeah- buy them.” Fennec says.

 

“But that could lead to trouble later.” Din counters. “It would only take someone else with larger a coin purse to buy them out from under you.”

 

“Who said anything about credits?” Fennec says. “Half of Bib’s guards are slaves- Jabba’s slaves. We offer to buy out their sentences, in exchange they open the gates for us. Let us sneak in and get close enough to kill Bib’s inner circle.”

 

“That… might actually work.” Din says.

 

Boba leans back, drinking from the feeding tube before talking.

 

“Why not both.” he says.

 

The two other hunters look at him.

 

“Fennec, you and I are easily recognized in that Palace- Din’s not. He can be our eyes and ears from within. Pick out targets, and when they’re having to go out and about, we can offer options.”

 

“Hm, if they come out.” Fennec says. “Sometimes they get a smuggler to bring supplies- and it’s not always the same one.”

 

“But the smuggler might need protection.” Din starts. “And face it, with a helmet and a change of clothes, you could be a different person Fennec.”

 

Fennec raised an eyebrow but before she could speak, Boba did.

 

“It’s true, I saw Leia Organa do it. Walked right in with a Wookie and threatened to blow everyone up for full payment of the bounty.”

 

“Did it last?” Fennec asks.

 

Boba opens his mouth but Din cuts in.

 

“No, but she killed Jabba shortly after.”

 

There’s a pause in the room.

 

“... You didn’t know who Luke Skywalker was when he saved our asses on Gideon’s ship, but you know that Leia Organa killed Jabba?” Fennec deadpans.

 

Boba blinks. Luke Skywalker!?

 

“Everyone knows about Leia the Hutt Slayer.” Din says. “She killed Jabba, destroyed the first Death Star, hell, she’s practically the reason that the New Republic is standing.”

 

Boba is so glad he’s sitting down. Leia Organa- that hot headed princess that Jabba tried to give him for a night- what the hell happened to the galaxy while he was in the Sarlacc!?

 

“Sounds like you have a little crush, Mando.” Fennec teases, smiling. “Should we be worried?”

 

“What?” Din snorts. “You don’t?”

 

“Well, I’ve never met the woman, but if I had… is she a looker?”

 

“Doesn’t matter if she is, she has skills.”

 

“Stop.” Boba raises his hand. “First off- Luke Skywalker ?”

 

“Yeah.” Fennec takes a sip of her caf. “That’s who took The Child.”

 

“... That karking X-Wing had Luke. Skywalker.”

 

Fennec nods alongside Din.

 

“... Why am I just hearing about this?” Boba asks.

 

“Do you know him?” Din asks.

 

“Yeah.” Boba snaps. “I know him. He came right after Organa got caught trying to free her bantha shit boyfriend from Jabba’s Palace, and was offered on a platter to me as some sort of reward.”

 

“You spent a night with Leia Organa?” Din asks.

 

“In a way.”

“What was it like?”

 

Boba had no idea how he felt about the excitement in Din’s voice. And when he looked over at Fennec, he knew he didn’t like the carefully blank but curious face she had.

 

“I don’t kiss and tell.” He snaps.

 

Fennec looks disappointed, drinking her caf in silence. But then Din, of all people…

 

“So nothing happened.” Din says, leaning back in his chair.

 

Fennec snorts, covers it up with coughing into her fist. Boba looked over at Din, watched as the other man tilted his helmet up to take a sip of his caf before bringing it back down.

 

“You gave The Child to Luke Skywalker.” Boba says.

 

“Yes.”

 

“ Why !?”

 

“... He’s a Jedi.” Din says. Guarded.

 

“And that was enough for you.” Boba says. Anger rising in his throat.

 

“I couldn’t give him what he needed.”

 

Boba wanted to stop- but his mouth didn’t let him.

 

“That’s the dumbest kriffing thing I’ve ever heard- that kid trusted you to take care of him. And you gave him to Luke Skywalker, of all people!”

 

A heavy pause fills the room. 

 

Din stares at Boba, T-Visor blank. But the hand not holding the mug flexes, underneath the table. The leather of the glove squeaks ever so slightly, thumb tapping against the thigh plating. Boba regrets his words, closing his eyes, grinding his teeth together, the feeding tube squeaking as it rests in his cheek.

 

Fennec clears her throat first, leaning forward.

 

“If we’re going to use a smuggler, I have someone in mind. She’s good, has morals- more than most in this business. Last I heard, she’s got a contract with Bib Fortuna to bring fresh fruit in coolers, along with collecting water taxes.”

 

“... Fine.” Boba looks away, not able to handle Din’s helmeted gaze. “Talk with her, see if she’s willing to help. If you’re going in disguise, don’t go into the inner court. I won’t lose you to something foolish.”

 

“Of course.” Fennec looks over at Din. “Mando, can you-”

 

“I’ll get in.” Din says, voice suddenly very leveled and mechanical. “I’ll find out weak points and guards you can convince.”

 

“Then… that’s the plan.” Fennec says. “So, unless you want-”

 

“No.” Din stands up. “Just let me know when and where you need me.”

 

He walked away, leaving his mug at the table. The moment he was gone, Fennec looked over at Boba.

 

“... What.” he snaps.

 

“You’re jealous.” Fennec says.

 

It’s not a question.

 

“I don’t get jealous.” Boba says, sucking the rest of the caf through the feeding tube before putting it away.

 

“No?” Fennec stands up, taking the mugs as she does so. “Is that why you cut him where it hurt the most?”

 

Boba stays quiet.

 

“We’re not nice people.” Fennec says, a harsh edge to her voice. “But you could at least try to not act like a fucking child around him.”

 

“What the hell did you just say?”

 

Boba stands up just as Fennec pulls a blaster on him. She presses the barrel against the center of his chest, staring right at him.

 

“Fennec.”

 

“Fett.”

 

They stand like that for a good while.

 

“... Luke Skywalker.” Boba growls. “Of all the- I’m not jealous!”

 

“Angry then.” Fennec says. “Don’t know why though, Jedi were all but killed off by the time we started. What do you have against a bunch of dead space wizards?”

 

Boba clenches his jaw.

 

“... You never met The Child.” Fennec says. “It could… do things.”

 

“Like what?” Boba snorts.

 

Fennec pauses, and then she holsters the blaster before pulling out a drive.

 

“Security film from the cruiser.” Fennec says, handing it over. “Specifically, The Child’s cell. Watch it. And then… then maybe you’ll understand why Mando felt incapable.”

 

She leaves, dropping the mugs into the sink with a loud clank before going up to her own bunk. Leaving Boba standing alone, holding the drive in his hand. He looks down at it, as if it was going to bite him.

 

He sighs, moving towards the cockpit, pulling up the holoprojector before plugging it in.

 

The image flickers. Two Stormtroopers are struggling forward, towards a bundle of rags and long floppy ears. And then one of them goes flying off screen. Boba leans forward, watches as they struggle, tossed around by some unseen force-

 

The Child.

 

He had a hand raised up, swinging and pushing the air… in the same motion as the Stormtroopers were flying.

 

Flashes of memory. Ventress, gripping his throat from across the train car. Vader staring down a field of rebels with Boba by his side, igniting a red blade before moving faster than the human eye, cutting them all down, pulling them in with a flick of his wrist. Clones side by side their Jedi, Windu in the arena as his blade cuts through Jango’s neck-

 

Boba turns it off.

 

I couldn’t give him what he needed.

 

Training.

 

Din had been talking about training.

 

But Boba had seen what that kind of training would lead to- what kind of monster it could create. He had spent his entire life helping to destroy monsters like that!

 

And yet…

 

Din gave The Child up. He broke his creed- he took off his helmet. Din loved this dangerous thing. Like it was his own.

 

Boba took his own helmet off, staring down at it. The T-Visor held a comfort. Sometimes, when he really needed it, he would close his eyes and think of his father. He did so now, bringing it up to his forehead, unsure of what to do.

 

The cold metal was cool on his skin. The scar that ran across his nose, connecting with the rest of the acid scars, itched. Boba shrugged it off, keeping still as he pressed his forehead into his father’s helmet.

 

“... I need your help.” Boba whispers. “Please Dad… I need your help.”

 

Nothing answers him.

 

Nothing ever answers him.

 

Boba sighs, putting his helmet back on and leaning the chair back. He tucks his arms in, grabbing one of his father’s twin blasters, the one he always had tucked into the chair. The other was under his cot, just within reach.

 

They stayed on the ship. They never left.

 

Boba closes his eyes, hoping for sleep.

 

It came in spurts, nightmares filling in the rest.

Notes:

So I went on an unexpected hiatus... whoops. I'm going to be switching to updating this story on just Wednesdays for now- but here's this chapter as an apology for disappearing for roughly two weeks lol.

Chapter 15: Sparring

Notes:

Y'all Work Was A Lot yesterday, I just woke up but here's this week's chapter lol.

The smuggler was a Kel Dor- and wanted to meet in a crowded bar in order to talk about the plan.

 

Fennec went, giving as little info as she could. She came back to the ship to let Boba know that a deal had been struck- Fortuna usually had a gap between killing off the latest batch of ‘indentured servants’ and getting new ones. The two of them would steal away on the smuggler’s ship and hit Fortuna while he was at court. Mando was to get in his own way, and take care of the guard tower so that alarms didn’t trip until it was too late.

 

Boba met the Kel Dor on the second trip with Fennec and Mando in tow.

 

He had nothing against Kel Dor’s- they were rare enough to see, and thier voices were naturally pitched low thanks to the helium-based antitox masks they had to wear outside of their home planet.

 

But this… 

 

Boba ground his teeth for what felt like the twelfth time in a single hour from hearing Din and the Kel Dor joking with each other. He had his helmet on as well- but Fennec’s smuggler friend had zeroed in on Din, offering him the copilot seat, sitting across from him and the two Not Eating while he and Fennec did.

 

It bothered him.

 

More than it should. 

 

Fennec noticed- of course she did. But she didn’t say anything- but she did pull her smuggler friend to the side, unaware that Fennec had a listening device on her that was linked to Boba’s sensors.

 

“Oh come on, Fennec.” the Kel Dor laughs. “I can’t take my mask for even a minute- what makes you think I care if he takes off his helmet.”

 

“Shok I’m warning you- you don’t want to get involved with Mandalorians. Especially not Mando.”

 

“Who said anything about getting ‘involved’, you make it sound so… emotional. Just a toss in the sheets, nothing more.”

 

Boba took his helmet off and threw it across the room after that. It happened around the same time that his door opened, Din standing with his spear in hand, looking at where the helmet landed.

 

“... I’ll come back.” he says.

 

Still in that mechanical voice.

 

“... Wait.” Boba says.

 

He rubs at his face, scratching at the large scar across the bridge of his nose.

 

“Did you need something?” Din asks.

 

Yeah. I need to kill this Kel Dor . The thought was quick and if Boba had been a younger, crueler man, he would have acted on it.

 

“The Kel Dor is trying to sleep with you.” Boba opens his eyes.

 

The T-Visor just stares back at him.

 

“I’m aware.” Din says.

 

“... Are you?”

 

“Am I what?”

 

“Going to sleep with her.”

 

“As far as I am aware, you and I were not exclusive.”

 

Boba takes a deep breath.

 

“... Right.” Boba nods. “This is just a distraction.”

 

“A way to focus.” Din says, nodding his head. “So- spar?”

 

Boba blinks.

 

“What?”

 

“Do you want to spar? I need the practice.” Din taps his spear against the ground.

 

“... Thought sparring was a courtship thing for you lot.” Boba says.

 

“If I was courting you, you would know.” Din snaps.

 

So, Din was still mad at Boba. Because Boba had put his foot in his mouth.

 

Perfect.

 

“Fine.” Boba grabs the gaffi stick and his helmet, throwing it over his head. “I’ll spar.”

 

Spar until one of us is dead.

 

---

 

Boba had worked up a sweat, muscles sore and already feeling the lactic acid in his calf. The prosthetic leg was starting to weigh on him, the connected thigh screaming from him moving constantly.

 

Din had to be in the same state, he thought, watching as the man went into a defensive stance with the spear, circling Boba. He lunges, Boba blocks before twirling the gaffi around himself to strike up- Din side steps with a twirl, spear coming up in both hands and pushing the jab from Boba’s gaffi away from his center.

 

Boba switched to one hand, the beskar spear singing as it hit his gauntlet. A twist of the wrist, Boba yanking the spear and Din forward. A bit too much force- Din followed and brought his helmet straight down onto Boba’s.

 

Boba dropped the gaffi stick and grabbed Din’s pauldron. He quickly moved his foot in, sweeping it behind Din’s ankle and forcing him to lose balance and fall on his back. Din threw the spear as he fell, hand reaching for Boba’s bandolier, forcing him to go down with him.

 

This is familiar- except this time Din was fully clothed- and already moving to try and put Boba in a headlock. Boba twisted in his grip.

 

Eventually the two looked across the floor from each other. Din was the first to stand up, from his hands and knees. Boba got off his back by kicking up from the floor, moving to put one hand in between his legs; a bolo tackle stance. A heavy pause… and then he lunged forward, grabbing Din in his center. Din slid a foot back, wrapping his own arms around Boba.

 

A grunt… and then Boba felt himself being turned and tossed, the sound of a boot knife leaving it’s sheath as Din ran forward. Boba then felt a knee pressed into his chest, a hand wrapping around his throat. He raised his gauntlet, the flamethrower kicking on, ready to spray fire- just as the knife’s tip was felt in his armpit… angled to sink in between his ribs and pierce his lungs if need be.

 

“... Match.” Boba grunts.

 

The hand around his throat tightens just so.

 

“I said, match.” Boba growls.

 

Din doesn’t move. 

 

Boba watches as that black T-Visor seems to glare at him. Din’s chestplate was rising and falling from the fight, there were scratches on his armour, but a little buffing would take it right out.

 

Even with the knife and hand around his throat, Boba wondered if Din would keep the scratches. He had kept his- before the Sarlacc at least. He probably had some new ones on the fresh coat by now.

 

“Mando…”

 

“My name is Din.”

 

“Din… Match.”

 

“... I won.”

 

Boba tilts his head to the side.

 

“You won this one.” Boba says, holding back from spitting it out. “But you might not win the next one.”

 

“... I should get a prize.” Din says, putting more weight on Boba’s chest.

 

Scratch that- Kill this fucker first, then the Kel Dor.

 

“What do you want, a medal?” Boba snaps.

 

Din Djarin actually laughs as Boba finally loses his temper.

 

“I want you to apologize.” Din says.

 

What?

 

“What!?” Boba hisses.

 

“Apologize.” Din leans forward. “For getting jealous.”

 

“I. Am not. Jealous.”

 

“Then you won’t mind if I sleep with the Kel Dor instead of you then.”

 

Oh that is IT! Boba grabs Din’s throat and spins. The knife drops and Boba rolls the two of them away from it. He squeezes Din’s throat with such a force he can hear the wheeze, watches as the base instinct to grab Boba’s arm kicks in. Boba raises his fist, anger rising so high he can feel it in the back of his throat.

 

He sees his reflection in Din’s Visor. 

 

He stops. 

 

It’s in that moment Boba looks down, sees he was straddling Din’s chest, his bulkier body trapping the taller hunter beneath him. He lets out a heavy sigh before letting go of Din’s throat, moving off of him.

 

Boba watches out of the corner of his visor as Din sits up… and stays on the ground with Boba.

 

“I’m not jealous.” Boba eventually says. “But… I am sorry. About The Child.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

A heavy pause.

 

“... I’m sure Skywalker is-” Boba tries again.

 

“I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Din snaps.

 

Boba winces internally.

 

“Fine.” Boba grunts as he stands up. “So what do you want to do?”

 

Din takes the offered hand, putting the other hand on Boba’s shoulder. Boba feels it squeeze, gently. Like from before.

 

“A shower would be nice.”

 

“I’m not gonna wait.” Boba says.

 

“Then I’ll go after-” Din starts.

 

“Together.” Boba finishes.

 

Boba has never seen Din Djarin’s face. But… he knows the man. 

 

Sees how his spine stiffens, how he doesn’t let go of Boba’s shoulder, still holding onto the gloved hand. How he lingers forward just a little, enough to where the few inches of height are exaggerated. The problem was figuring out if it was interest or not.

 

“... Fine.” Din says, voice a bit gruff. “You won that last match. Seems… fair.”

 

“Then let’s go.” Boba lets go, already walking towards the fresher.

 

He hears Din following. He takes his helmet off, wanting to focus on Din’s own footsteps and not his own heart trying to leap out of his chest.

Notes:

For those of y'all reading 'Honor Among Bastards'- this and Ch. 14 are where that story started. The Kel Dor is actually a nod to the OC/Reader 'Smuggler' own backstory stuff.

Chapter 16: NSFW - Hot and Cold

Boba heard Din getting out of his armour and flight suit. He also heard the sound of him opening the door… and then a pause.

 

“A water shower?” Din’s voice echoes off the tile.

 

“Installed it in my twenties.” Boba says, sitting down on the bench in order to peel his boots off and maneuver his clothes off the prosthetic. “Left handle is cold water, the right is hot.”

 

Boba heard Din hum, and then him stepping in and the turn of the dials… but no water. Boba smirks, pullings his shirt off over his head and making his way to the shower. Din has his back to the door- standing stark naked in front of the knobs.

 

Boba opens the door and presses his front to Din’s back, reaching one hand to rest on the other man’s stomach as he moves to pull at the center knob in a clockwise motion before pushing it back in. The water spurts and then starts to come down- hotter than Boba liked right away. All he did was hiss as it hit his bare skin- but it turned into a grown soon after. Pressing his face into Din’s shoulder blade as it began to sooth his muscles, the stall filled with steam.

 

Din had been frozen in place ever since Boba got in. He didn’t mind- the last time Din was naked around Boba was because he had ripped the clothes off his body. But even then… Din had his helmet. In the shower, he didn’t.

 

“I won’t look.” Boba says, keeping his face pressed into Din’s shoulder, his other hand moving to hold onto Din’s chest. “You can keep your back to me.”

 

“... Right.”

 

“Hand me that soap, will you.”

 

Din fumbles, but grabs the bar. 

 

Boba takes it, rubbing it in between his hands to get a lather- and then brings it to Din’s back. He’s being greedy- he knows it. Letting his hands roam across and over to Din’s chest. First with the bar of soap, then his free hand, blunt fingernails that would trace what felt like cauterized wounds, blaster singe marks, scattering patches of hair.

 

Going lower, to the dip in his hips, the softness of age rather than diet in his middle. The toned muscle of his legs. Boba lets his lips trail across Din’s shoulders, letting go in order to wash the other man’s back. Rubbing the suds in between his shoulder blades as Boba quickly cleans his own chest and armpits with his other hand. Lowering himself on the prosthetic leg, the metal scratching the tile as he took Din’s left leg in his hands.

 

There was the audible sigh as Boba worked his fingers into the calf muscles, the dark leg hair swirling with the water and suds. Boba moves to the knee, pressing his thumb into the sides, knowing that helped with his own joints. Moving higher, the Din’s thigh.

 

Boba had Din’s ass right in front of his face. He had the thought of sinking his teeth into the meat, watching as Din struggled against him. But instead he just cleans him, washing off the sweat and grime of the fight and day.

 

“When was the last time you had a water shower?” Boba asks, switching over to the other leg.

 

“Hm… a long time.” Din murmurs. 

 

Din’s voice was different without the vocoder. The low baritone- husky and soft. Not used to making himself louder than he absolutely needs to be. Boba liked it. Probably more than he should.

 

He grunts, standing up and resting his head on Din’s shoulder.

 

“Your hair is longer than I thought.” Boba comments.

 

“You mean I’m not bald like you.” Din says.

 

Boba really likes the sound of Din’s voice.

 

“Didn’t really get a choice with mine.” Boba huffs.

 

“Is that a laugh?” Din asks.

 

“... Nah.” Boba nips Din’s shoulder. “We need to get your hair though… Can I- I mean…”

 

“... You can touch my hair.” Din says, voice just as unsure as Boba felt. “I… just be careful.”

 

“Sensitive?”

 

“Sort of.”

 

Boba hums. He doesn’t have any hair product in here- he would need to change that. For now he took the soap bar and created a lather before putting it back on it’s stand.

 

“Tilt your head back.” Boba says.

 

Din did. 

Boba smoothed the hair from his forehead back, massaging Din’s scalp. The other man goes limp, groaning as Boba works through it. Boba can remember what it felt like- was missing it for the first time, watching as Din became so loose and pilant underneath his fingers. There were some tangles. Boba worked through them as slowly as he could until they were undone.

 

“Close your eyes.” Boba whispers. “Gotta wash the soap out.”

 

Din grunts, standing up and putting his head directly underneath the spray of water. Boba snorts, one hand on Din’s shoulder to make him squat low so that Boba could work it all out. Rubbing at the edges of Din’s ears that were turning pink under the steam and hot water. When it’s all out, Boba wraps one hand around Din’s middle again, the one on his shoulder moving up, draped over. Boba feels Din take the offered hand, gnarled fingers closing around each other.

 

Boba then rotates them, making sure it’s now his turn under the water spray. But he stands there, pressing his front to Din’s back, gently swaying together as the water beats down on his back. He moans, the steam collecting into water droplets on his scalp and temples.

 

He lets his lower hand wander, thumb brushing the v of Din’s hip dip, the pubic hair that grew here, trimmed so that it wouldn’t pinch and pull while wearing all the layers and armour, rather than for, as far as Boba could feel, aesthetic. The slight tremor in Din’s thigh, the flex of his lower stomach.

 

He doesn’t touch Din’s cock… yet. 

 

He’s exploring, being greedy and craving this skin contact. Without the vocoder of his helmet to hide behind, Boba could hear his breathing. How desperate Din was trying to keep it even. How badly he was failing. The wet gasps, him swallowing before letting out a shaky breath through his mouth.

 

“... Tell me what you want.” Boba whispers, pressing his cheek into Din’s shoulder.

 

“I… I want you to touch me.” Din whispers back, as if raising his voice was going to break the spell.

 

“Where?”

 

“... Here.”

 

Din’s other hand found Boba’s wrist. Fingers intertwining together, moving towards Din’s groin. Boba hums, pressing his own erection into the back of Din’s leg as he traced Din’s balls, rolling them in his hand. The water and steam let him take a hold of Din’s cock, stroking him.

 

The low and barely audible moan, Din’s head falling to his chest. Lips pressed against the inside of Boba’s wrist, incisor scraping the delicate skin. beard. He has a beard. The scratch from facial hair as Din leans into the arm that Boba has draped over his shoulder.

 

This is… nice.

 

Boba pulls Din closer to his chest, keeping the slow but firm pace. Feels Din relax even further in his hold. The thought comes, slow but persistent. What does Din look like? Boba opens his eyes, walking the two of them backwards until his own back presses against the tile. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the spot where he had punched it, weeks ago. The crack in the tile from when his fist slammed as he recalls his first time bringing Din off.

 

What color are his eyes ?

 

Were they green? 

 

Rolling hills, or perhaps that darker color only known in deep and ancient woods. The brown hair near black underneath the water, Din’s face completely underneath the spray. It would look good with green, he thinks.

 

Were they grey? Or blue? 

 

That would make sense- most Mandalorians had that color for their eyes. The ones born to Mandalore at least. But they were pale, the kind that comes from being born with light skin. Din was… not that same color pale. He probably hadn’t had the sun on his face in years- decades even. But it had color- not as much as himself- as much as his father. But enough to let him know that if Din had been born to Mandalore, it was the same way he was born to Kamino.

 

Are his eyes brown ?

 

Din begins to move his hips, the panting growing. He squeezes Boba’s hand before letting go, letting it rest against the cracked tile to the side. Boba looks over at his hand. Feels Din push back, grinding against Boba. He lets out a moan, eyes rolling just as he sees where the skin on Din’s knuckles had cracked, from their fight before.

 

“That’s it.” Boba’s voice sounds even more like a rumble now. “Take what you want.”

 

Boba pulls Din’s hip closer, looking down at where the other was moving against him. The tapered waist, the longer torso that became those broad shoulders- broader now as Din brought both hands up, catching himself as the wet tile underneath his two feet nearly made him slip.

“... Y-your foot.” Din starts.

 

Boba pushes them both forward, Din’s already losing the fight with his balance, now causing him to have his face pressed against the opposite wall. Dark brown hair plastered to his forehead and the side of his face- blocking the view. Boba picks up the pace, stroking Din’s cock as he squeezes his hip, moving against Din, finding his own pleasure from this.

 

“What about it?” Boba says, moving his face to press in between Din’s shoulder blades, not wanting to tempt himself anymore. “You act like you’ve never seen a prosthetic.”

 

“F-fuck. Boba.” Din pants.

 

“That’s it.” Boba bites into muscle and skin. “You gonna fight me? You gonna keep ignoring me now?”

 

“If you weren’t such an asshole-”

“Me?” Boba presses himself closer. “I’m the asshole?”

 

“I-”

 

“You’re right.” Boba can feel himself cracking, the desperation. “I’ll fuck you until you can’t think, until you’re begging for no one but me- and then I’ll leave. Toss you like fucking trash and watch you fall to the ground. That’s what you want, what you deserve- to be used.”

 

Din whines, tries to push himself up- Boba doesn’t let him.

 

“You think you can just walk into my life and not get hurt?” Boba hisses. “Be grateful you chose this ” he squeezes Din’s cock before he keeps going, rutting against Din’s ass. “And not torture.”

 

“Boba.”

“Din.”

 

“P-please.”

“Come on pretty boy,” Boba laughs. “ Beg. ”

 

Din cums. 

 

He curls his hand into a fist as he does so, slamming it into the tile. Pieces of it fall to the bottom of the shower, some of it going down the drain. Boba lets go of Din’s cock, moving to maintain a vice grip on the other’s hips. The skin was already turning red, Boba rutting against Din like an animal.

 

He watches as his cum paints Din’s back, the water and steam letting it pool and collect into his back dimples, some finding its way to Boba’s gnarled hands. He smooths it across Din’s lower back, the same motion he had done with the soap. The bruises already forming, hand prints that were meant for him- just another scar to add to the ones he already had.

 

Boba watched as Din twisted, turning to face him- he shut his eyes immediately. 

 

There are hands on his body.

 

Gentle hands . 

 

Boba inhales a little sharper than he thought was possible after cumming.

 

They cupped his face, thumbs that pressed into his cheeks. One hand moving, fingers tracing his lips, opposing thumb pulling his lower lip down. Slow, methodical. Fingertips pressing into his temples, until they were following the gumline. Finding the old scar across his nose, the one that nearly killed him. The water was getting cold- it was the only reason he knew Din was breathing him in before he felt Din’s forehead pressed against his own.

 

The drag of teeth before it took his bottom lip. The dull but growing pain. 

 

The tongue that moved against what was trapped between teeth. Boba screwed his eyes shut tighter, hands coming up to Din’s elbows. Not quite pushing away- if he yanked, Din might take his bottom lip with him.

 

Maybe Din would.

 

Maybe Boba wanted Din to leave a scar- a visible one. A reminder. A threat… A promise.

 

But what kind of promise? Maybe one that meant Din would hurt him just as badly as everyone else- maybe more.

 

His lip was starting to throb.

 

Din let go, a soft chuckle as he rubbed his cheek against Boba’s own, moving his mouth close to the other’s ear.

 

“You’re not an asshole.” Din whispers. “I’ve known a few in my life… I’ve been one. You’re just pretending… It’s not a good look on you.”

 

Boba almost opens his eyes- almost looks Din in his face, to try and figure out what he meant by it.

 

Din leaves, the sound of the door opening and then closing. He can hear him putting his clothes back on, walking out of the fresher entirely. 

 

Boba finally opens his eyes, cold water beating down on his body. He turns off the shower, stepping out and sees that Din took everything that was his- including the spear. He brings a hand up to his lower lip, the dull throb as his blood pumps. It’s in time with his own heartbeat.

 

You’re not an asshole .

 

“... What the fuck is wrong with me.” Boba whispers.

Notes:

Wrote this chapter way back when J (Nim-lock) had done this photo... and now We get to posting it lmaooo

https://twitter.com/nimlocked/status/1398140354067632132?s=20

Chapter 17: This Terrible, Wonderful Feeling

They took over Jabba’s Palace.

 

Fortuna had spent pretty much everything.

 

What wasn’t spent had been destroyed.

 

It was… about what he had expected actually.

 

“... This is a shit kingdom to inherit.” Boba grumbles.

 

Fennec snorts.

 

“But we took it.” she takes another sip of the spotchka she had found. “Now comes the hard part.”

“What’s that,” he looks over at her.

 

“Make it worth wanting to try and kill us for.”

 

He hums, laughing underneath his helmet, sitting on the throne.

 

“Who’s still alive?” Boba asks.

 

“Outside of the slaves?” Fennec says.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Ask your Mando.”

 

“He’s not mine.”

 

“Bantha shit.” Fennec stands up, kicking Fortuna’s corpse before walking around the room, poking things with her sniper blaster.

 

Boba leaned back in the chair, watching her. That was when they heard the scuffle- and the weequay majordomo rolling down the stairs with Din right behind him.

 

“Found him hiding in the storage closet.” Din motions with his helmet.

 

“Good, bring him here.” Boba moves to sit up, spread on the throne, leaning on his prosthetic knee.

 

The majordomo scrambled, bowing his head- until he saw his dead master. The squeak he lets out was higher than what Boba was expecting.

 

“You- what’s your name?” Boba snaps.

 

“Sh-Sh-Shas, sir.”

 

“Well, Sh-Sh-Shas. Round up the survivors and bring them here. You have a new king.”

 

The Weequay nods his head, scrambling to stand up.

 

“Fennec-”

 

“On it.”

 

She aims her blaster, nudging it into his back.

 

“Move.”

 

“Y-Yes! Of course!”

 

Fennec and the majordomo left. Boba watched them leave, letting his gaze eventually fall to Din.

 

“... What.” Boba snaps.

 

“You look good on a throne.” Din says.

 

Boba blinks. He leans back, helmet cocked to the side.

 

“Of course I do.”

 

Din actually laughs at that. It… tugs at something.

 

“Should I bow then?” Din asks, helmet tilting to the other side, spear in one hand. “Swear loyalty?”

 

“Rather you do something else on your knees.”

 

The words are out of Boba’s mouth before he can stop them.

 

But then Din actually walks forward, moving to stand in between Boba’s spread legs. The spear makes a small musical note as it hits the floor- pure beskar always does. Underneath the helmet, Boba licks his lips, flexing his hands as Din leans forward just so.

 

A hand tilting his head up- fingertips finding the small sliver of skin between the seal of his helmet and his cowl. Boba grabs Din’s wrist, feels the delicate bones grind together in his grip. Din doesn’t move- doesn’t even flinch.

 

“... Would like that?” Din asks, the vocoder causing his already soft voice to hold a dangerous edge to it. “Me, on my knees?”

 

Boba takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

 

“Should I go and put on a skimpy little outfit for you?” Din continues. “Lace and silk, cover my face so you can pretend I’m some kind of virgin whore?”

 

“Don’t.” Boba grunts.

 

“Don’t… what?” Din says. “My King.”

 

A shiver ran down Boba’s spine upon hearing that. Din let go, moving to stand to his right, spear by his side. Boba did not look at the other man- but he really wanted to at that moment. Unlike him, Din didn’t wear a codpiece. 

 

He’s a star-riddled enigma.

 

As much as Boba wanted him… Din was still a complete stranger.

 

Wrapped in pure beskar- unmarked, free of dents and scratches, untainted.

 

Pure.

 

Like his armour.

 

It pissed Boba the fuck off.

 

That was what this feeling had to be… right ?

 

---

 

They all chose their rooms.

 

Fennec took the old slug’s room- she and Boba both went in with a flamethrower, burning everything in sight. She laughed the entire time, enjoying the carnage. Boba did too- it was cathartic, in a way. Watching as fine silk, covered in all manner of slime and dust, goes up in smoke and flame.

 

Din stood just outside the door- he was there when they finally opened the door, the smoke and soot following them, Fennec pulling both of them in for a hug as she cackled. The servant droids that were left went in after, sweeping up the carnage and cleaning it. Boba watched it happen as Fennec and Din went to grab her things from his ship, piling it all in a heap, the grin on Fennec’s face contagious.

 

Din took a room down in the lower levels- close to the kitchens and hangar. At first Boba thought he was finally going to pick one of the ships… but all Din did was grab the single bag of things he had, put it in a room, and go back to sticking near either him or Fennec.

 

Boba took his old rooms.

 

On the upper floors, looking over the Dune Sea. One of the few rooms that actually had glass instead of an open window. Thick and that tinge of sea-green color, which during the high day would flood it in a color foreign to the desert. The sandstorm shutter was half down, the durasteel covered in scratches and dings. The bed was large once- large for a younger Boba at least. But now he sat on it, feeling the soft mattress give underneath his weight.

 

Leaning back, still covered in smoke and sand, he threw his arms out. His knuckles were at the ends of the bed. He groans, smiling underneath his helmet as the mattress wraps around him. One hand pushing his helmet up, just enough for his nose to be uncovered. A deep breath in, before it ends in a low rumble in his chest.

 

“Finally.” he whispers.

 

“You look happy.” Fennec says.

 

“I am.” he says.

 

She moves into the room, helping him pull his helmet all the way off, resting it on the nightstand. She flops on the bed, head resting against one of his outstretched arms. She takes a deep breath with him, closing her eyes shut.

 

“... So now what?” she asks.

 

Boba hums, thinking.

 

“We’ll have to hold court- and renegotiate with the farmers and towns.”

 

“Hm,” Fennec thumps his chestplate. “You’re sitting on the throne for that.”

 

“Fine- but you’re making the contracts.”

 

“Fine.”

 

They laid like that for a while.

 

“What about Mando?”

 

“Din.”

 

Fennec rolls her head to look at him.

 

“... His name is Din.” Boba says.

 

She raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“What about Din?” she says.

 

Boba didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that she was not making fun of him right now.

 

“I’m not his caretaker.” Boba sits up, cracking his neck and knuckles, one handed.

 

“No,” Fennec toes off her boots, still laying down on the bed. “But he’s made it pretty clear he is not leaving.”

 

“... What?” Boba turns to look at her.

 

“Oh come on,” Fennec sighs. “He could have chosen any ship in that hangar- he hasn’t. He stuck around, is still sleeping with you-”

 

“We’re not- it’s just fucking, there’s no sleep involved.”

 

“Have you asked?”

 

Boba stiffens up. 

 

Fennec pauses, before sitting up and resting her face against his pauldron. Boba doesn’t try to push her away. She lets out a heavy sigh.

 

“Fett- No, Boba. What do you want ?” she says.

 

“...”

 

“You did this for me- but what do you want out of this?”

 

“Out of what?” Boba says, quiet and close to his chest.

 

“Being King.” She asks.

 

“... Focus.”

 

Fennec pauses.

 

“Focus.” She repeats. 

 

“Yeah.” he says, nodding.

 

“... Din might need the same thing.”

 

“No, he doesn’t.” Boba looks at Fennec. “I need this to-”

 

Focus on something else in order to fight the pain.

 

He stops. Fennec just stares at him.

 

In a different life, he might have found her attractive. 

 

She was beautiful- there was no denying that. But… they were not the other’s type. 

 

The same thought seemed to cross her mind as well, the way she snorts, shaking her head before standing up and moving across the room. Opening one of the drawers, finding an old hunting knife, spinning it in her hand, watching it and not looking at him.

 

“What was it he had asked?” Fennec finally says. “Help get rid of the Darksaber’? ‘Find me a ship’? Or was that you who offered.”

 

Boba is still staring at her.

 

“First one was his… the last one was mine.” He finally says.

 

“He refused a ship.” Fennec looks at him, the knife no longer spinning in her hand.

 

“Hm.” Boba says.

 

“So… how do we get rid of that weapon?”

 

Boba sighs, scratching at the massive scar on his face.

 

“Throw it into the Dune Sea.” Boba grunts.

 

“And then?” Fennec asks.

 

Boba glares at her. She looks right back at him.

 

“He’ll have no reason to stick around.” Fennec says.

 

Saying it outloud… He ground his teeth together.

 

“... Have you ever been in love?” Boba asks.

 

She blinks.

 

“Once.” She says. “They died.”

 

“... What was it like?” Boba asks.

 

“What, love?” Fennec snorts. 

 

And then sobers up when she sees that he’s being serious.

 

“... Boba-”

 

“Don’t coddle me.” he snaps.

 

“... Annoying, mostly.” Fennec finally says. “Makes you weak, distracted… like you would do anything to get them back. Make them stay.”

 

“Is it… like anger?” Boba asks.

 

“No- it’s stronger.” she looks away from him, out the green-tinted window. “Are you in love?”

 

She looks at him when he doesn’t answer right away.

 

He holds his gaze with her.

 

Until he can’t anymore.

 

“I… don’t know,” he finally admits. “I’m too old for it.”

 

Another quiet- suffocating in the silence.

 

“... No, Boba, you’re not.” Fennec whispers.

 

She leaves, taking the hunting knife with her.

Chapter 18: Stay The Night

Boba Fett knew they had developed a pattern.

 

He would come to Din Djarin, back him into a corner, fuck him, use the man to relieve whatever tension that was growing, distract them both from whatever this thing that was boiling underneath the surface. And then he would leave before Din could do anything about it.

 

At least… he thought it was like that.

 

Until Din Djarin knocked on his door a month after they had taken over the Palace.

 

He was dressed in his armour, the helmet still on. Boba was in a sleep shirt, the pants he wore cut off at the mid-thigh, showing exactly where his prosthetic began. Din didn’t say anything, just gently pushed Boba back into the room, closing the door.

 

Boba found himself pushed down, sitting on his bed. Din moved to kneel, wide shoulders pushing Boba’s legs apart. The T-Visor stared up at him from the ground, arms resting against the top of his legs, leather gloves playing with the frayed edges of his sleep shirt.

 

“Djarin.”

 

“I’m returning the favour now.”

 

Boba kept his mouth shut. When Din moved one hand to take his helmet off, Boba looked straight up, a sharp inhale and shutting his eyes.

 

“Don’t do that… please.” Din says.

 

The hiss as the seal of the helmet is taken off.

 

“I want you to look at me.”

 

Why is he so goddamn soft ? Boba thinks. 

 

His voice, his hands. Everything that Boba was never able to be- how did one become a skilled hunter and be able to stay this soft and this kind and gentle way of speaking. To just… exist like this. There are gentle hands on his waist, the soft nip on his inner thigh.

 

“Look at me.” Din whispers. “Please.”

 

Boba shook his head, moving his hands to Din’s hair-

 

His hair was soft. It was curly, his fingers threading through the strands. He whimpers, gripping at the roots. Din moans, leaning forward, pressed into Boba’s thigh. He can feel the other man’s breath on his stomach.

 

“Stop.” Boba croaks out.

 

Din does, leaning back. Fumbling, Boba finds the other’s helmet, moving it to go back over his head, and then finally looking down. The blank T-Visor stares back up at him. Boba moved his hands, standing them both up.

 

The sound of Din’s knees popping, the sway as Boba tries to stand up straight. He looks up at the other hunter, somehow the roles reverse, with Din fully armoured and him not.

 

“... Stay.” Boba finally says. “Here. Tonight.”

 

Din doesn’t say anything. He tilts his helmet to the side, moving one hand to gently take a hold of Boba’s wrist. Fingers that wrap around, feeling his pulse through worn gloves.

 

Slowly, Boba moves to take off Din’s armour. Piece by piece, the same care and attention he gave his own. Din lets him, lifting a limb whenever Boba gently pressed and pulled against his body. It takes several minutes, the room quiet except for the clasps and Boba’s own even breathing. 

 

Eventually, all that was left was the helmet. Boba looks up, sees the T-Visor staring at him. Din goes to try and take it off- but Boba grabs his wrists. Rougher than he had the entire time he was underdressing him.

 

“You don’t have to.” Boba says, voice cracked and rough.

 

“I want to.” Din says, the vocoder making his soft voice sound like a crack of thunder.

 

That made Boba afraid.

 

“Why?” he whispers.

 

Din hesitates.

 

“... I want to take it off,” he says, crowding into Boba’s space. “Want you to see me.”

 

“Din-”

 

“I need you to see me.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

The words leave his throat just as his back hits the mattress. Din hovers over him, frozen in place.

 

“I… I can’t.” Boba whispers, looking up at the T-Visor. “Too soon- I won’t- I can’t.”

 

“... Okay.” Din moves to get up- but Boba grabs his wrist.

 

“Stay the night.” Boba says in a rush. “I’ll wear a blindfold- but stay.”

 

Din pauses. How can a man who wears a helmet be so open and hard to read all at once?

 

Boba gets up, moving over to the curtain and tearing a strip out of the fabric. He wraps it around his eyes, the thin material not blocking his vision completely. But with the darkness of the night, it’s enough. He feels his heart rate slow, even as it skips a beat hearing Din take off his helmet, putting it down on the counter.

 

Gentle hands, gun calluses on the fingertips but still soft on his skin. They pull him, slowly, towards the bed. Din lays down- Boba can just make out his figure. He follows, keeping skin contact with him. If not a hand on an arm, then legs pressed together. Until they’re both on their sides, chest to chest, nose to nose.

 

Boba feels Din let out a shaky breath, can feel it as he wraps an arm around Boba’s ribcage, holding him close. The hand is back, mapping his collarbone, the folds along his neck and chin. The way that the scars curl and remain stiff even after the bacta. Gun calluses that catch against his lower lip, moving towards his cheek. Thumb rubbing against where his earlobe had fused to his skull, his ear no longer separated.

 

He’s close enough that he can smell Din’s breath, the curry from dinner, some kind of citrus from his cleaning routine. The blindfold only lets Boba see big blocks, not details. His nose was hooked- not broken. His hair was curly, the mustache and patchy beard. Din looked… older than Boba thought he would. He didn’t know why he thought Din was going to be young, younger than he actually was. But he did- and was happy to be proven wrong.

 

He still did not know what color the other’s eyes were. But he saw how his face shifted, like he was smiling. Then press of Din’s forehead against his own.

 

“Never thought…” Din starts, faltering.

 

Boba squeezes Din’s arm, then lets go in order to pull his prosthetic leg off, letting it fall off the side of the bed.

 

“Thought what?” he asks, voice back to that gravelled tone.

 

He still could not hear his father when he spoke… but he was getting used to it.

 

“Have you ever read those bad romance books?” Din asks, moving to pull Boba’s stump over his hip, rubbing at where the remaining knee joint and metal attachment meet. “The ones by Amon’da Lorriane.”

 

“No,” Boba says. “heard they were trash.”

 

“They are… and yet… you’ve followed the script exactly.”

 

Boba stiffens at that.

 

“You’re rather romantic.” Din says, teasing.

 

“I could still kill you in your sleep.” Boba grumbles.

 

Din laughs at that.

 

“Kill me in the morning,” Din yawns, his jaw popping as he does so. “Let me have this.”

 

Boba just grunts back.

 

---

 

Boba wakes up slowly. 

 

The blindfold blocks out most of the sun, but he can see the room a little better now. He can also see the other person in the bed with him, broad back in plain view. The line from shoulder, down to the torso. The toned muscle and ass, body hair that was dark like what was on top of his head. It’s… calming.

 

Boba pulls a blanket over his head, blocking out the sun and the sight. But he hears Din wake up, the sound of him turning over, no doubt looking at Boba and the blanket that was over his face.

 

A snort. 

 

Boba grunts back. 

 

There’s a gentle hand on his hip, pushing down his sleepwear. Boba let’s it happen, feels the scratch from Din’s facial hair as he rubs it against his arm.

 

“Take this off for me?” Din asks, messing with the shirt.

 

Boba just grunts back, sitting up and facing away from Din. Pulling off the shirt, chucking the shorts off and sighing, the blanket back over his face. Moving back on the bed, laying down. One hand moving to keep the blanket over his eyes.

 

“... Why don’t you look at me?” Din asks, fingers tracing the scars that littered Boba’s body.

 

“I don’t know.” Boba says.

 

“Is it because of an oath?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“Mine… or yours.”

 

“I swear allegiance to-”

 

“To no one, I remember.” blunt nails drag against his inner thigh. “But you did swear one, didn’t you?”

 

It would be so easy to yank the blanket off and glare at the man. But that might break this spell they were under. The one that let Din take control, let him explore Boba. Let Boba just… relax- for once.

 

“... Yes.” Boba whispers.

 

“Hm,” the drag of facial hair on his shoulder, before lips press against a knot of scar tissue. “To honor? Or to something else?”

 

“... Why do you care?”

 

“Because I’m trying to help.” Din says.

 

“Help?” Boba snorts. “Help with what.”

 

“Help you find a new focus.”

 

He stiffens at that. Din presses his body against Boba, chin resting on his shoulder.

 

“You helped me.” Din says. “I’m returning the favour now.”

 

“... Oh .”

 

Boba swallowed around the lump in his throat. 

 

“Is that a yes?” Din asks, breathing on Boba’s neck. “Or should I leave?”

 

“Don’t you dare leave.” Boba says- his vocal chords make it sound more like grinding gravel than anything else.

 

“You can keep the blanket on your head then.” Din says, just that side of teasing. “But…”

 

Boba feels Din straddle his thighs. Gentle hands, rough calluses catching on his scars. The sound of that tin, the one with the lotion inside.

 

“You’re going to let me take care of you.” Din says, lotion already being put onto Boba’s chest. “Got it?”

 

“... Fine.” Boba moves one hand away from the blanket, rubbing into Din’s knee. “But I’m gonna bitch the entire time.”

 

“Good- I like feedback.”

 

All he does is hum, feels Din rub the cold lotion into his skin. 

 

That tight feeling of his skin giving way to relief, the cool sensation pulling what drowsiness he had from waking up away. He feels Din move from his chest to his stomach, then his arms. Gentle hands replacing the hand that was holding the blanket with the other in order to work the lotion in.

 

Movement, then a tap on his hip to turn around. It was getting stuffy underneath the blanket. He flips onto his back, feels Din straddle the back of his thighs. Feels that the other hunter is still naked above him. The hands move, kneading through hard muscle, working on knots before letting them release.

 

Boba holds in the moan, gritting his teeth and hissing.

 

“Did I hurt you?” Din asks.

 

He’s so close. I can feel his breath on my neck.

 

“No.” Boba grunts. “Keep going.”

 

“Bossy.”

 

“I’m King.”

 

“So am I… apparently.”

 

He actually laughs at that, feels Din moving to his lower back.

 

“I want to be King.” Boba says. “It fell into your lap.”

 

“... It looks better on you.” Din whispers.

 

That… pulls at something in his chest.

 

“I’m sure if you tried, it would look good on you too.” Boba says.

 

“No- It won’t.” Din says. “I’m a Beyora , not an Alor .”

 

“You think I’m an Alor ?”

 

“Yes.”

 

It’s said with such certainty, that Boba almost believes it himself. 

 

There’s the tap on his hip again- he shifts back onto his back, pulling the blanket up just enough to breathe. Din’s hands pause on his stump. He knows that Din is staring at him.

 

And then there’s a shift on the bed. He can smell Din’s morning breath.

 

“What is it?” Boba asks.

 

“... I’ve never kissed anyone.” Din says.

 

Boba blinks.

 

“... Finish with my legs,” Boba says. “Maybe I’ll show you after.”

 

“Is that an order?”

 

“From your King?” Boba grins, knowing that Din can see it. “Yes.”

Chapter 19: NSFW - Hidden and Seen

Boba knows that Din is taking special care, making sure that no part of his skin is not looked after. His prosthetic was on the floor- but the attachment to his stump was still on. 

 

Sensitive- Din found out when Boba flinches. He feels scruff that drags where metal and skin meet before the stump is put down.

 

The tin with the lotion is screwed shut, hands reaching underneath the blanket, fingers rubbing into his neck, up his scalp. When they rub into his ears, Boba does not stop the long drawn out moan.

 

“Oooh that’s- that’s good.” Boba grunts.

 

Din laughs. Boba huffs, feels Din press his body against Boba’s side, one leg slotted in between his own.

 

“So… how about that kiss?” Boba says.

 

His voice sounds like steel wool to his ears. He picks up the blanket, bunching it to rest on the bridge of his nose, lips uncovered while the rest remains hidden. He feels Din stiffen for half a moment.

 

“We don’t have to-” Boba starts.

 

“I want to.” Din says, voice barely above a whisper. “I… Just give me a minute.”

 

“Sure.”

 

Din’s voice was soft- softer than what Boba had gotten used to with the vocoder. A fleeting thought of whether Din had set his helmet to amplify his voice, so he wouldn’t have to shout. Or if he was just like this normally- he had no reason to shout. To scream and be heard.

 

There’s a hand on his chin, tracing his lips. Boba leans his head towards Din's hand. He moves his arm, wraps it around Din’s waist, thumb rubbing into the small of the other’s back. Feels the dimple there, how Din’s chest expands against his side. That gentle, calloused hand moves, finding where Boba’s neck folds, where scars and burns don’t quite let it sit naturally.

 

Does he think I’m attractive?

 

The thought comes out of nowhere. Boba shivers, pushing it to the back of his mind.

 

Boba never thought of it, not really- he had his father’s face. Thousands had that same face- some had kids, families… but most never got the chance. The perfect specimen- symmetrical, designed for war and nothing else. 

 

There had been a sense of pride when Boba found out that one eye droops lower, or that his teeth were not perfect, that his bottom row was crooked. It meant that his father was not perfect- that there was a difference between them and the clones.

 

He had not looked at himself in a mirror since climbing out of the Sarlacc. He had no idea what he looked like. Was he attractive? Did he still look like his father? What did Din and Fennec see?

 

“I can hear you thinking.” Din says, thumb rubbing into his cheek, just underneath the blanket. Not quite pushing it away… not yet.

 

“Hm.” Boba lets out a heavy sigh. “You ready?”

 

“Yeah…”

 

Boba smiles.

 

“Then get closer.” Boba whispers.

 

He can feel Din’s breath on his face. Boba waits…

 

Din presses his face close, waiting. Boba rolls his eyes underneath the blanket, moving his lips forwards, pressing them to Din’s. Firm, constant. He feels Din sigh, pushing forward.

 

Drag of lips, slow and only parting to breath. Noses bumping against each other. The hand on Din’s back moves, cupping his ass, pulling him closer. The blanket starts to shift- Boba panics, pulling away and grabbing it before it falls away from his face.

 

“Sorry.” Din says.

 

“Not your fault.” Boba says. “... You can kiss more than lips.”

 

“Hm… like this?”

 

Boba feels Din press a kiss to his shoulder.

 

“Hm… Mhm…” Boba laughs, feels Din shift, one hand stroking up and down his chest. “Just like that.”

 

Din hums, experimenting. 

 

Dragging his face across Boba’s skin, lips that would find a knot of scar tissue, fingers that brush to find where the other was still able to feel before planting a kiss. The hand on his chest moving lower, finding Boba half-hard. Just holding him until he was full mast, facial hair finding a ticklish spot near Boba’s rib before kissing again.

 

Boba inhales sharply as Din starts to stroke him. The arm on Din’s back moves away, holding the blanket to his face, with both hands clutching it like a lifeline. There’s a kiss on his tricep, a chuckle from Din.

 

“Boba Fett, King of Tatooine… shy.”

 

“Watch it-”

 

“Or what?”

 

A squeeze, thumb rubbing at his foreskin, another kiss to his chest.

 

Boba moans, grabbing Din’s head, holding him close with one hand, threading his fingers through the curly hair he found.

 

“Or I’ll kick you out.” Boba growls.

 

“... Alor …”

 

Boba reacts- but not how he thought he would. 

 

A jolt of pleasure, hips rocking up into the hand holding him. Din moves closer, letting out an audible sigh as Boba tightens his grip in his hair.

 

“You like that?” Din asks, voice still so soft and gentle. “I could be your hunter- just yours.”

 

Boba feels his chest tighten at that. He bucks into Din’s hand.

 

“You do,” Din says, teeth pressed against Boba’s chest before lips drag.

 

“Watch it.” Boba snaps. But there is no bite to it.

 

“Of course… my King.”

 

Boba gasps. 

 

Din leans forward, pressing his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. Boba pulls the blanket back up, kissing him. It’s rough- bumping chins and clacking teeth. But Boba turns to his side, grabbing Din, rutting against his hand and leg. His stump finds its way to Din’s hip, the phantom limb trying to pull the other closer.

 

Din lets out a broken moan, letting Boba take the lead on the kiss, picking the pace up on the handjob he was giving. A nip to his lower lip, letting Boba slip his tongue in. Hands that curl into thick hair, holding him closer.

 

The blanket is pulled off and over, draped across both of their faces. Boba screws his eyes shut, feels the sweat from his brow cling to the other’s hair. 

 

He didn’t have any more hair- he knew that. Din felt his scalp, his jaw. No stubble, the hair follicles burned off because of the Sarlacc. But Din… He had hair, gasping as Boba dragged his mouth across his chin, his neck. Letting the scruff drag across his tongue before nipping at soft skin. The other hand resting on his hip, pulling the two of them together.

 

Rutting like a pair of teenagers in the dark. 

 

It was the middle of the morning- even with the blanket, even with burying his head into Din’s neck and chest, he could feel the sun on his face. He can feel Din’s arousal, poking into his other leg.

 

Grabbing the man’s face, holding him close, a chaste kiss, breathing through his nose as he reaches down, helping Din along the way. He’s close- has been ever since Din put his hands on him, helping him. Making sure that he didn’t crack, that his skin, his armour, was fine.

 

A complete fucking stranger, in pure beskar. No markings, no paint, no dents to speak of.

 

And yet…

 

Din Djarin was an enigma. 

 

If he had been younger, he would hate the man, for how soft he was. He would have been in awe of the strength, of the ability that Din had, that kept him moving forward, to choose a child’s safety and happiness over payment. He wanted to be better- to change.

 

To be worthy of being King.

 

Even if it was only just for this man.

 

“Din-” Boba slurs, drunk and losing his mind. “Din.”

 

“Boba.”

 

“Din.”

 

“I’m here, what is it?”

 

“Din!”

 

“I’m here- look at me.”

 

Boba opens his eyes.

 

Din’s eyes were brown. Like upturned earth- they’re wonderful. 

 

He watches as Din cums, before pulling Boba in, clacking teeth as he tries to kiss him. The broken moan, a whimper in the back of his throat as he hides in Boba’s neck. Boba shudders, moves to take a hold of Din’s hand, making sure that he finishes with Din wrapped around him. When he does, he hisses, the hot air underneath the blanket suffocating.

 

But he doesn’t move it away.

 

If he does, he would have to shut his eyes again- he wouldn’t be able to look Din in the eye again.

 

He wanted to keep looking at brown eyes.

 

It takes more than a minute, the two clutching at each other. The morning is nearly gone now. A comm pings- Boba grumbles, leaning over to fumble the nightstand, one arm still wrapped around Din as he does.

 

“What.” Boba snaps.

 

“Good morning to you too.” Fennec says. “What’s the plan?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“I’ll take the throne then.”

 

“Fine. Don’t comm me unless you’re dying.”

 

“If I’m dying, you’re already dead.”

 

Boba hears her click off. He snorts, tossing the comm, adjusting the blanket to still cover his and Din’s face. He feels Din shift in his grasp, lips dragging against a scar on collarbone.

 

“Anyone would think you two hate each other.” he says.

 

Boba huffs out a laugh.

 

“We don’t.” Boba says, low and quiet. “We’re friends.”

 

“Odd friendship.” Din says, just as gentle as ever.

 

“Hm. Maybe. I wouldn’t know.”

 

Din looks up. Boba really could lose himself, looking at this man. Dig a grave in those eyes, and this time not crawl out of it.

 

“You mean you don’t have friends?” Din asks.

 

The way he was so open in his face- the way his eyebrows lifted, concerned. Boba smiles, smoothing the wrinkles in the other’s forehead with his thumb.

 

“I have Fennec.” he says.

 

“So I’m not a friend?” Din has a crooked smile.

 

A snaggletooth on the left side, a metal cap on one of his molars. Boba blinks.

 

Oh. He’s… human.

 

“No, you’re… something else.” Boba says, realizing there’s a bald patch in his beard, just on the right side of his jaw. He places his thumb there- a perfect fit.

 

“Hm…” Din closes his eyes, leaning into Boba’s hand. “Your hunter.”

 

“... Yeah.” Boba keeps his eyes open, studying him. “Mine.”

Notes:

https://twitter.com/nimlocked/status/1406126298360057856

Nim did this way back ago, and I uh. Wrote this entire chapter based off of it.

I'm not McFucking Sorry LMAOOOO

Chapter 20: A Certain Point Of View

When Din Djarin was six years old, his parents were killed in the Clone Wars. He watched as droids marched into his hometown, not caring who they fired at, what homes and rooms they walked into, mindlessly marching.

 

Following Orders.

 

When Din Djarin was eight, the man who saved him, died. He was taken into the Fighting Corps. To train, to become a soldier.

 

To Follow Orders.

 

When Din Djarin was thirteen, he fell in love. 

 

Another boy in the Corps, who would cry during training, who always had some speck of dirt on his face when they were allowed to take the helmets off at night. Who pulled out a book he snuck from his Buir’s stash.

 

Bumping Beskar- you want to read it with me?

 

That was Din’s introduction to Mando’a. A book not written by an actual Mandalorian. But someone who liked to use the words, who would twist it to mean something else.

 

It took him far too long to realize that Sarad meant flower and not something else. Even longer to realize that Mesh’la didn’t have to be for someone with long blonde hair and fair skin.

 

Mesh’la could mean a boy in the Corps who always had dirt on his face.

 

Mesh’la could be an older woman who took his hand when he was just starting as a Beyora and handed him a plate of food, telling him he was not allowed to leave until he ate every bite and brought her back the plate.

 

Mesh’la could be the way Karga always tried to crack a joke, white beard trimmed and clean. Or how Ahsoka Tano smiled so gently when she spoke with Grogu.

 

Mesh’la was the first waterfall he had ever seen, after taking off his armor and sinking into the water, letting it wash over him. It could be a field after a fire, cracked and healing, grass and new growth waiting for a heavy rain.

 

Mesh’la … was Boba Fett.

 

He doesn’t know when he started to think of the other hunter as that.

 

If he had to pinpoint the exact moment… It might have been when Boba offered himself and Fennec after getting he got his armor back.

 

He had no reason to.

 

Din had nothing- no ship, no money… no child.

 

And yet…

 

“Fate sometimes steps in to rescue the wretched.”

 

---

 

The first time Boba Fett came to him, Din was completely caught off guard.

 

“You’re not focused. You need to get your mind off of everything.”

 

And then the man fell to his knees and sucked Din off. He thought he knew how this worked- He had gone to get Boba off as well, turning the man around, moving one hand down the front of his pants, felt how hard Boba was.

 

“... No. This was for you, not me.”

 

The older hunter had left. 

 

Din sat back down in the bunk. That was… new. He pulled his helmet off, staring at the door, wondering if Boba was going to come marching back in, change his mind. But it didn’t happen.

 

---

 

He told Boba Fett his name. 

 

And then… his quest was finished.

Grogu was gone. Returned to his own kind. He watched as the child he carried for a year and a half, had sacrificed everything to protect, left with a real Jedi.

 

He couldn’t put his helmet back on.

 

He… was lost.

 

He doesn’t remember walking back into the Firespray that was Boba’s ship. Doesn’t remember whether or not he kept the Darksaber. He doesn’t even remember if he had collapsed in the bunk that was offered to him after Tython… or if it had been Boba’s own bed.

 

He remembers Boba coming in, sitting on the bed though.

 

“I broke my Creed-”

 

“No. No you didn’t.” Boba had snapped at him.

 

Repeating the Creed- the oath he swore. Boba, handing him his helmet. The only people allowed to give such forgiveness- the dead… and an Alor . A real one, not whatever he had just become by fighting Gideon.

 

He put the helmet on, moving to stand up, to show he could be strong-

 

Only for Boba to hit him in the gut, making him double over and force him to be held by Boba.

 

“You want to feel sorry for yourself, do it on your own fucking time.” Boba had growled. “But so long as you are on my ship, and sleeping in my bunk, I won’t tolerate it.”

 

His ship.

 

His bunk.

 

His.

 

Din clung to that- probably more than he should have. Before Fennec could even ask, he offered to help them both. She just had this knowing look on her face.

 

“Wow. He got to you too?” she had said.

 

“... Yes.” he had said.

 

“... I don’t think he knows.”

 

“Know what?”

 

“The effect he has on people.”

 

Din tilted his head to the side. Fennec just snorted at him.

 

“Then again… I don’t think you do either.” she had said, already walking back to the ship.

 

“What does that mean?” Din asks, following her.

 

“It means you're meant for each other.”

 

---

 

Boba Fett was human.

 

The first hint was how he was whenever Shok was near Din. The Kel Dor had noticed, and made a wager.

 

“Hey, if I flirt around you enough, you think your boyfriend will get jealous enough to do something?”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Din has said.

 

Shok raised one brow- as best a Kel Dor, can at least.

 

“Betcha twenty credits he’ll hit you so hard you like it.”

 

“... Forty he hits you first.”

 

“Deal.”

 

Din was not a betting man- but he was learning new things about himself every day. The longer he was on this ship with Boba and Fennec, the more he was learning who he was, outside of being a provider and hunter. So what was a small bet with a Kel Dor smuggler, knowing that one of them was going to face a wrathful Boba Fett at the end?

 

He may have cheated- offering Boba to spar. He had not expected to shower with the man at the end. As he was leaned forward, felt Boba rutting against his back, bringing them both off, the thought came so fast and so hard it punched him right in the chest.

 

I want Boba Fett to see me .

 

He had turned in the shower- and saw Boba screw his eyes so goddamn tight, it was endearing. He took Boba’s lip in his teeth, hoping that the pressure would force him to open his eyes. He didn’t.

 

“You’re not an asshole.” he had whispered, letting go, studying the cracks and scars on the other hunter’s face. “You’re just pretending...It’s not a good look on you.”

 

He left, wondering if Boba Fett would follow, would hold him down and study his face like he just did his.

 

It didn’t happen.

 

---

 

“... Stay.” Boba had said. “Here. Tonight.”

 

Boba Fett was human. And he had no idea how beautiful he was to Din Djarin.

 

Din stayed the night, felt his heart swell at seeing Boba try to give him some sense of privacy, the blanket over his face so that Din could show his. 

 

“You’re rather romantic.”

 

“I could still kill you in your sleep.”

 

Din laughed at that.

 

“Kill me in the morning,” Din had responded. “Let me have this.”

 

Waking up to the other man laughing, that gravel voice warm and comforting. Like coarse sandpaper, how he and his first love would giggle as they dragged the rough material of the blankets across their shins, shivers running up and down their spines as it happened.

 

Helping Boba put on that ointment that smelled like black melon and ozone. Learning where all those scars joined together. Realizing that the worst of it was where his armour did not sit. His wrists, his neck. The stump for his leg, the jagged twist of muscle around the lack of bone, how it blended with surgical scars as well.

 

Mesh’la… Beautiful .

 

Din lies. Says he’s never kissed. He wants to kiss Boba.

 

Wants to learn how Boba likes to be touched.

 

Wants to be seen by the man who gave him his honor back. And when Boba opens his eyes, Din breaks.

 

It was too much- it would never be enough.

 

He clings to Boba, fear and shame welling up inside of him.

 

And yet…

 

Boba reaches down, making sure Din finishes the job. That they’re both satisfied.

 

And then holds Din.

 

Holds him like he was an equal.

 

Din wants to cry in relief- but instead he melts, slurred speech and the warmth underneath the blanket casting a spell on him.

 

“Your hunter.” he had said.

 

Letting slip what he had been thinking for the last few months.

 

“Yeah… mine.”

Notes:

heuheuehueheueheueheuehueheuehue

Nearly Done, how y'all feeling about the fact that this fic is gonna end just in time for BoBF to start? I swear I had not planned it like this

Chapter 21: I Knew My Father

Being King was… better than anything. And when it got to be too much, Boba would let Fennec take over- she was a good second. And Din…

 

Din was a balm- one that Boba still wasn’t quite sure what to do with. Din would hunt, would take whatever ship or puck that Boba found, would come back. If he wanted someone dead, Din would kill them. If he wanted someone alive so he could beat them, turn them into a fine paste as he extracted what information he could, then Din would bring them back, would break an arm or cut a finger off if Boba so much as jerked his helmet for the go ahead.

 

Din would sleep in his bed. He would let Boba climb in first, blanket over his head and let Boba watch him get undressed, the helmet the last thing to come off before Din would crawl underneath the blanket with him, wandering hands that would come to his face. Kind hands, soft hands. Hands covered in calluses and scars. Face unfiltered, the snaggletooth and bald patch in his beard- the perfect size for Boba to rest his thumb into, moving it slowly back and forth, feel where the hair and lack of was.

 

Din Djarin… was his hunter. No one was going to take him away from Fett.

 

So when Skywalker commed one morning, and Boba watched in quiet agony as a green gremlin showed up on screen, Din with tears in his eyes as he spoke with the small thing, and was given coordinates…

 

Boba was so sure that Din Djarin was leaving forever.

 

He ran off the day that Din was meant to leave- took a speeder into the desert and left before Din could wake up.

 

Fennec found him- of course she did. All she did was plop down in the sand, looking out at where Boba had stopped.

 

“... This is where it happened.” Fennec says. “Where you died, isn’t it?”

 

Boba curls his fist, leather creaking against his dry skin.

 

“He’s gone.” Boba says, helmet secured firmly on.

 

“He was upset.”

 

“Hrmph.”

 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“... Yeah.” Boba looks across the sands. “This is where I died.”

 

“Are you thinking of jumping in?” Fennec says, not looking at him, just staring into the sands.

 

“I did.”

 

“So what stopped you?”

 

“Sarlacc is dead.”

 

“Hm,” Fennec cocks her blaster. “I have a better offer.”

 

Boba waits… Fennec doesn’t shoot him.

 

“Are you waiting for permission or what?” he snaps.

 

“I’m asking you to come back to the Palace.” Fennec snaps back. “But if you want to feel sorry because your boyfriend went to go see his kid, then fine. I’ll put a bolt between your eyes and he can pull you out of the sands.”

 

“He’s not- Fuck off.”

 

“If he’s not that then what is he!?” Fennec moves to stand in front of him. “I’ve watched you dance around your fucking feelings-”

 

“Fen,” Boba stands straight up. “Come back here-”

 

“No, I’m sick of it!” Fennec starts to yell. “Do you have any idea what you have? You have a whole planet, we are KINGS! But the moment that you finally let yourself have something, you finally decide to be greedy-”

 

“Shand, you’re going to-”

 

“And suddenly you don’t fight for it tooth and nail? What happened to Boba Fett the ruthless, the bastard? You gonna stand there and tell me you’ve gone soft-”

 

Fennec’s foot slips- and she starts to fall backwards. Boba reacts, grabbing her arm and flying straight up in the air with his jetpack. He moves the both of them away from the hole, crashing into the dunes.

 

Fennec hits him, moving away, spitting out sand, still screaming at him. Boba just… freezes. Stuck in the sand, feels it creep into his armour. He should have died here. He should have never been able to come back- 

 

He should be dead.

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Fennec screams.

 

She plops down next to him, hands empty.

 

“... Sorry about your blaster.” Boba mumbles.

 

“You’re buying me a new one.” Fennec snaps.

 

He just grunts, rolling over and staring up at the sky. His helmet’s UV kicks in, making sure he doesn’t blind himself. Fennec just… sits with him. A loud sniff.

 

“Are you crying?” he asks.

 

He earns a punch right above his prosthetic. Neither he nor Fennec move.

 

“... Mando’s not gonna leave you that easily.” Fennec eventually says. “You know that, right?”

 

Boba stays quiet.

 

“Everyone leaves.” is what he eventually says.

 

“I haven’t.” Fennec says.

 

“You owe me a debt-”

 

“Fuck off-”

 

“Those were your words, not mine.” Boba tilts his helmet towards her. “You told him that- you owe me a debt.”

 

Fennec blinks.

 

“... Boba you- little gods, I didn’t think you would remember that.”

 

“I’m a hunter- I have to remember contracts.” he looks back at the sky. “You should know that.”

 

“And what if I said that I was lying?” Fennec says.

 

“...”

 

“We’re Kings- I could leave now, say the debt is paid because you have a palace, a kingdom-”

 

“Then leave.”

 

“No.”

 

“Then I guess you still owe me a debt.”

 

“You’re a bastard, you know that?”

 

“I knew my father.”

 

“Did you?”

 

Boba grinds his teeth together, sitting up and staring down the hole they had avoided. Fennec huffs, staring at him.

 

Silence fills the air for so long, Boba can hear the sands moving.

 

“... I’m sorry.” She whispers. “I-”

 

“You’re right.” He says.

 

She looks at him, blinking. He pulls his helmet off, looking at the T-Visor.

 

“I… I loved him.” Boba starts. “And he loved me- I knew that. But… he died when I was ten. So I- I never really got to know him. I wanted to- I- I just wanted to live up to him.”

 

Fennec sits, listening. Boba never knew it could rain with the twin suns out like this. That had to be the reason why his face was wet.

 

“I used to have his face.” Boba says, voice sounding so much like a lost kid from Kamino. “His voice- anytime I looked in the mirror I- I saw my father staring right back.”

 

“... Boba-” Fennec starts.

 

“I haven’t looked at myself since coming back.” Boba stares at Fennec. “I have no idea what I look like.”

 

She was crying. Was he crying too?

 

It must be raining.

 

In the middle of the day, in the middle of a desert.

 

It had to be raining.

 

She put her hand on his cheek, thumb brushing just underneath his eyes. He blinks, unsure what to do. Fennec Shand pulls him in closer, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

“Wh-what are you doing?” Boba asks.

 

“It’s a hug, jackass.” Fennec says.

 

“... Right.”

 

They sat there for sometime, Boba finally cracking and crying. 

 

Fennec held him. 

 

The suns started to set by the time they made it back to the palace. He followed her to her rooms, sat in the chair and watched as she moved around, getting ready for the night. Brushing her long hair in front of a mirror.

 

She stopped, turning her head to look at him. He was still in his armour.

 

“Come here.” She offers the hairbrush.

 

He pauses.

 

 But he gets up, helmet left on the table. Stands behind her, sees his figure in the mirror- his face is not seen, but his neck is. He pulls his gloves and gauntlets off, rolling the sleeves up before brushing Fennec’s hair for her. She closes her eyes, let’s him do this.

 

He didn’t know the complex braids she did- but he knew a simple one. Loose and easy. At the end he ties it off with an orange strand. She moves to stand, walking away and pulling the braid forward.

 

They look at each other.

 

“He’ll come back.” Fennec says.

 

How do you know? He wants to say.

 

“We’ll see.” Boba says instead.

 

“No, he will.” Fennec smiles. “He left his spear here.”

 

Boba blinks.

 

“He has to come back for it- It’s in your room.” Fennec takes his gloves and gauntlets, handing them back to him. “Get out, I’m going to sleep.”

 

He nods, moving towards the door. He opens it- and stops.

 

“... We’re still friends- right?” he asks.

 

He doesn’t look at her. He’s afraid to.

 

“Yes.” Fennec says. “That’s the debt- friendship.”

 

He snorts at that.

 

“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Boba says.

 

“How would we know?” Fennec says.

 

“... Fair point.”

 

He leaves. Heading back to his room. He opens the door and sees it- the beskar spear… and the darksaber. There’s a comm and a note as well.

 

He takes his armour off, pulling on sleep pants before going to the note, picking up the comm. The note just has a channel on it. He pauses, thinks of inputting it…

 

Instead he puts them both down and crawls into bed, and tries to fall asleep.

 

It’s harder to now- Din wasn’t there as a weight.

But he manages… as best as he can.

Chapter 22: Growth

Din Djarin had come back- and he had left.

 

It was a back and forth sort of situation. Everytime he was gone, he would leave the note and the comm… Boba never knew what to do with it.

 

By the fourth time he left, and the third time he came back… Din had come late at night, crawling into bed with Boba, tucking the blanket over both their heads before kissing Boba’s skin. Turning him over, grinding against him. Moving Boba’s hand to the crotch of his pants.

 

“Feel that?” Din whispers, pressing another kiss onto the underside of Boba’s chin.

 

“Hm…” Boba moved his hand away, pulling Din in closer by his ass, one thigh pressing in between the other’s legs. “Feel that?”

 

“Sure do- Boba.” Din pants.

 

Boba pulls him close, kissing him. Taking over. Grinding against him, just wanting the other closer-

 

He hears Din laugh.

 

“What is it?” Boba grunts.

 

“Nothing.” Din breathes. “It’s just…”

 

A gentle hand strokes the top of his head- but it doesn’t touch his skin.

 

“Your hair- it’s growing back.” Din kisses Boba again. “I’m a little jealous.”

 

Boba blinks.

 

“Why?” He pulls back to look at Din.

 

“You don’t have any grey hair, like I do.” Din smiles, skin folding along the corner of his eyes and lips- Boba’s favorite ugly detail. “It makes you look younger.”

 

Boba blinks again. Din’s smile falters, brow furrowing.

 

“Do you want me to shave it-” Din starts

 

“No.” Boba says, perhaps a little quickly. “I… I didn’t know.”

 

“Really?” Din tilts his head back, taking a breath from the crack of the blanket before coming back. “It’s pretty long right now- long enough that you should have seen it come in.”

 

Boba just stares at Din.

 

He watches as it dawns on the other hunter, finally.

 

“You- oh.” Din breathes.

 

Boba just keeps staring at him.

 

“You have no idea what you look like.” Din says.

 

Boba nods.

 

“Is… is that bad?” Boba asks, voice barely above a whisper.

 

“No.” Din shakes his head. “I- I mean before… everything that happened I- I had a vague idea but I didn’t… really… know what I looked like either.”

 

“But you do now?” Boba asks, barely above a whisper.

 

A pause.

 

“Not really, no.” Din puts his forehead against Boba’s. “But you do.”

 

Boba takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and pressing against Din as well, arms wrapping around him.

 

“What… Do you see?” Boba asks. “When you look at me.”

 

“Hm,” Din presses a kiss to the side of Boba’s mouth. “Your eyes are brown. Dark- they turn down near the outside. I like them. But you do look too serious.”

 

Boba laughs, feels the side of his face turn up at that.

 

“Until you smile, like you are right now.” Din says. “I like your smile.”

 

“I don’t smile,” Boba says, smiling.

 

“Sure,” Din laughs, smiling back. “You don’t smile.”

 

Boba opens his eyes, one hand coming up to Din’s face.

 

“... I thought your eyes would be blue.” Boba says.

 

“Why?” Din asks.

 

“Well… I thought you were from Mandalore- most people born on that rock have blue eyes.”

 

Din chuckles.

 

“I was a Foundling.” he says.

 

“I know that now , shabuir. ” Boba grumbles.

 

“Go on, you were doing good.”

 

“You’re scruffy.” Boba rubs a thumb against Din’s cheek. “Don’t know if you do that on purpose.”

 

“Outside of you and the kid, no one really sees my face. No point in keeping up appearances.”

 

“Hm- well I like it. Especially this.” Boba rubs at the mustache. “And… these.” He puts his thumbs in the bald spots in Din’s beard.

 

“Stop,” Din pulls back just enough to kiss Boba’s palm. “I hate those.”

 

“Why?” Boba asks, letting Din play with his fingers, holding his hand.

 

“I can’t grow a full beard- and you just pointed out why.” Din says.

 

“Hmm…” Boba lets a small rumble of a laugh leave.

 

“Could you? Before you fell.” Din asks.

 

“I could.” Boba answers.

 

“Hm.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Imagining it- I’m not doing it.”

 

“Not even for me?”

 

“Not even on a bet.”

 

“Ha, alright.”

 

“What else?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What else do you see?” Boba asks.

 

Din sighs, moving his hand down Boba’s chest, fingertips finding where nerves were alive and dead before pressing into his chest.

 

“Scars.” Din says. Honest.

 

“...”

 

“Like this one.” He taps against a faded mark near his collarbone. “This is a blaster bolt- wasn’t it?”

 

“... Yeah.” Boba says, softly.

 

“This is a vibroblade,” hands that drag against his hip. “And this… a bite?”

 

“Trandoshan,” Boba smirks at the memory. “It was a lesson.”

 

“On how not to piss off a Trandoshan.”

 

“On how to grapple someone bigger than you.” Boba looks at Din. “He was my… well. We worked together a lot.”

 

“What was his name?” Din asks, pressing another kiss to Boba’s knuckles.

 

“Bossk.” Boba says, dragging lips against Din’s hand.

 

“What happened to him?”

 

“Think he’s dead.”

 

“Hm… I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s fine.” Boba leans his forehead against Din’s again. “Keep going.”

 

“... I like you.” Din says.

 

Boba snorts.

 

“What about me?” Boba asks.

 

“How much Mando’a do you know?” Din asks.

 

“Enough.”

 

“Good.” Din huffs. “Repeat after me.”

 

“... Alright.” Boba closes his eyes, listening.

 

“ Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. ” Din says.

 

“ Ni kar’tayl… gar darasuum. ” Boba repeats.

 

“Good, Jate, Jate … That was good.” Din breathes.

 

“What does it mean?” Boba opens his eyes.

 

“The literal translation is- well… It’s ‘I know you, forever’.”

 

“... What does it mean, Djarin?” Boba sighs.

 

“I love you.”

 

Din presses a kiss to the side of Boba’s lips.

 

“I see you.” Din presses another, on his chin. “I know you. Forever.”

 

Boba blinks. And then he pulls Din close, buries his face into the other man’s neck. He knows his body is shaking- it used to shake from anger.

 

He doesn’t think that’s what this is.

 

He feels a cool breeze across his face- more light that peeks from his hold on Din. Din just takes a deep breath, Boba feels his ribcage move against his arms.

 

“Maybe… you don’t have to see your face.” Din says, one hand rubbing up and down Boba’s back. “You just need someone to see you.”

 

Boba gasps, wet and choking as he hides further in the other man. He was dying- that had to be it.

 

“I see you, Boba Fett… and I love you.”

 

Boba breaks. 

 

It’s the only way to describe this feeling- falling and drowning but numb to all of it. The blanket, the one sole thing keeping this dream from crashing to reality- tossed to the side. But… Din was still here.

 

Saying those words over and over.

 

A mantra.

 

An oath?

 

… A promise . 

 

Some small broken part inside of him whispers. The same small part that had watched his father make a promise to come back- a small part that had been trying to crawl back out with him. Had dreamed of a wasteland, of a small white flower. Of a Beskar Stranger being kind and unreachable. The same stranger who was repeating those words to him now.

 

Boba Fett wails, for probably the first time in his life.

 

And Din Djarin holds him, rubbing his back, brushing tears and snot and who knows what else off of his face, kissing him where skin could no longer fold correctly, where nerve endings were deadened until Din’s touch.

 

Din Djarin… stays.

 

Boba feels his blunt nails dig into Din’s back, his throat raw and body still shaking. He had screwed his eyes shut at some point- but Din is pulling him close, still kissing him. The pathetic whimper that leaves Boba as it keeps happening. Those kind hands, his soft eyes. Hardened and still gentle- at least with Boba.

 

When he finally, finally does open his eyes…

 

Din is staring at him.

 

At him . 

 

Not a clone, not a king. 

 

Just… Boba.

 

“... Hey.” Din says. “Are you okay?”

 

“... No.” Boba croaks out, clearing his throat in the process. “I never was.”

 

“Hm… Okay.” Din pulls him into a Keldabe Kiss. “That makes two of us then.”

 

Boba snorts.

 

“... I want to say it back.” Boba whispers.

 

“Do you need help?” Din asks.

 

Boba nods.

 

“Okay- repeat after me.”

 

Boba licks his lips. And repeats those words over and over for Din.

 

With his face bare in the morning light.

Notes:

This chapter was inpsired by TWO different works:

First up is J/Nimlock's (https://twitter.com/nimlocked/status/1435118621198626826)- Just the first interaction at least lol.

Second is actually by Keev/Keldabekush (https://keldabekush.tumblr.com/post/658625788445343744/boba-with-peach-fuzz-growin-back-in-all-patchy)

Idk it Stuck For So Long... and even if we know b/c BoBF is coming out that he's gonna Stay Bald. It's my fic and I get to decide on the Looks.

Chapter 23: Aliit

Boba… had no idea what to do with Grogu.

Din just brought the gremlin, and then apologized for having to leave for a small hunt in Mos Pelgo. But he left Grogu here- with Boba and Fennec.

 

Fennec at least took the first steps, holding the child on one hip, sniper blaster resting on her other. Big green ears and even bigger brown eyes just looked back and forth between them, completely at ease. They held court like that- and the kid didn’t really slow anything down.

 

Even after a negotiation turned into a disintegration. To be fair, Boba forgot that the munchkin was in the same room when he pulled his blaster out- but the way it smiled, one ear moving up and giggling at the sight.

 

Well… It’s Djarin’s foundling alright.

 

But Fennec left Grogu with him for the night. So here he was, in his room… with a small green monster scribbling on spare paper with charcoal and paint he was able to find tucked in the kit Djarin had packed him. Boba just sipped his caf, unsure what to do. Paperwork it is then .

 

About two hours into it, Boba heard the sound of claws on his prosthetic. When he looked down, Gorgu was… painting his foot?

 

“Hey.” Boba grunts.

 

Grogu just looks up.

 

“What are you doing?” Boba asks.

 

The kid just blew a raspberry and went back to his work. 

 

Boba had no clue if Grogu knew what the colors he picked out meant- but he found himself smiling, going back to his work. He couldn’t feel anything in the prosthetic anyways- and Grogu was quiet enough, he was able to finish up the rest of his work with no other distractions.

Once he was finished, he picked up Grogu, helped the little monster clean his hands and put him on the bed. Grogu just looked around, looking so much smaller than anything that should be left alone on a bed. Nerves kicked in, Boba shuffling pillows and blankets around the sides so that the gremlin couldn’t fall off.

 

“There.” Boba stands up. “How’s that?”

 

“Bah.” Grogu grunts.

 

“Yeah… It’s pretty shit.”

 

Grogu tapped the bed with a claw, looking up at Boba.

 

“I’ve got the chair, sleep.” Boba says.

 

Boba goes back to the table, moving the chair to face the bed. He closed his eyes only for a second- but the next thing he feels is Grogu sitting on his chest. Tiny hands on his face, that baby gibberish he had been talking with Fennec all day, coming out as quiet as the green tyke could manage.

 

“Kid- no.” Boba grunts. “Bed.”

 

He picks Grogu up again, laying him on the bed.

 

“Din will kill me if he learns you slept at the table.”

 

Grogu squints, showing off his tiny dagger teeth. Boba just… sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

 

“There.” He says, stubborn. “Happy?”

 

Grogu shakes his head, tapping the bed with his tiny claw again. Boba has to shut his eyes. He wasn’t this stubborn when he was this small… right?

 

Now that he thinks back… he might have been.

 

“Fine.” Boba reaches down and takes off the prosthetic at the knee joint. “Fine, I’ll lay down. But you have to sleep too.”

Din got in late at night- so late that the throne room was empty. He rolls his neck, making his way towards Boba’s rooms. He stays quiet, opening the door- and stops.

 

Boba was asleep… with Grogu clinging to his arm. But his gaze goes toward the prosthetic- covered in paint. Greens and yellows and red… and white Mudhorn crudely drawn on the calf plating. Din smiles, closing the door and taking his helmet off.

 

He sees Grogu’s ear perk up, followed by a snore from Boba. Din brings a finger up to his lips. Grogu mimics as best he can, watching Din get out of his armour until he was just in a shirt and sleep pants.

 

Gently as he can, he moves into the bed, wrapping an arm around Boba’s middle, Grogu pulling his hand down towards himself until tiny claws clung to it. Din smiles, blinking back tears as he falls asleep.

When Din woke up, it was with a weight on his chest. Boba was laying on top of him, chin on Din’s chest. Grogu was sitting on Boba’s shoulders, and chirped at Din, opening his eyes. Boba looked grumpy- it was sort of adorable when he had a kid perched on his shoulders.

 

“Stop it.” Boba mutters.

 

“Stop what?” Din yawns, stretching as best he could.

 

“Do you know what your foundling did to my leg?” Boba says, still trying to sound angry.

 

“Put my sigil on it?” Din smiles, cracking an eye open.

 

Boba blinks.

 

And then he’s moving, taking Grogu off of him and setting the child on Din’s chest, scrambling to grab the prosthetic. Din leans his head over, feels Grogu begin to babble at him, tapping his cheek in order for him to sit up.

 

When Din finally does sit up, he sees Boba lean his hip against the table, holding the prosthetic up. Fingers stroking the mudhorn. Boba’s face was perfectly blank- but after months with the man, Din knew better. Boba looks up, sees both Din and Grogu staring back at him.

 

“... It’s your sigil.” Boba says, low and gruff.

 

“Guess Grogu thinks we’re aliit then.” Din says.

 

“I- wait.”

 

Din smiles.

 

“These are my colors.” Boba stresses. “And- and this-”

 

“My sigil.” Din smiles. “In white.”

 

A heavy pause.

 

“ Cin Vhetin. ” Boba croaks out.

 

Din nods.

 

“You were my Cin Vhetin. ” Din says. “You both were.”

 

Grogu turns his head, looking up at Din.

 

“When I went to say hello- I asked Grogu if I should paint my armour.” Din smiles, rubbing at Grogu’s ear. “He went straight for the white… and painted the sigil. Just the sigil though.”

 

Boba just… stares at them both. Din stands up, gently tucking Grogu under his arm. He steps forward, a gentle kiss to the side of Boba’s mouth. A Keldabe shortly after.

 

“I want you to be with us.” Din whispers. “Part of my clan… I went to Mos Pelgo to find a place to bury the Darksaber. I want you to come with us when I do it- I want you to help paint my armour.”

 

“Din.” Boba breathes. “I-”

 

“Please say yes.”

 

“... Yes.”

 

---

 

Fennec held Grogu, watching as Fett and Djarin walked towards the old Krayt hold.

 

It was once a Sarlacc Pit- and by the time that Djarin had come here, it had held a Krayt. Grogu coos up at her.

 

“They are idiots.” Fennec laughs. “But they’re our idiots.”

 

Grogu just nodded his head, seemingly understanding her.

 

She watches as Din stands in front of the open cave… and throws something deep inside. He moves back towards Boba.

 

Boba wasn’t hiding the prosthetic anymore. It was painted as well- She recognized the handprints as Grogu’s. She looks down at the gremlin.

 

“Hey, kid.” Fennec says.

 

“Eh?” Grogu responds.

 

“If I give you my sniper, you think you can make it pretty?”

 

“Ah!”

 

“I like blacks and oranges.” She looks up to see Boba and Din embrace before coming back to them. “But you can do white if you want.”

 

Grogu blows a raspberry, tapping her glove. 

 

She holds him up, looking at his massive eyes. Two clawed hands come up, holding her cheeks. And a headbutt. She laughs, putting the kid down. Grogu immediately starts to waddle over to Din, who picks him up and puts him back on his hip.

 

The white mudhorn on his shoulder was new. Fennec popped her jaw, looking over at Boba.

 

“So what now?” she asks.

 

“Now… Huh.” Boba sighs, pulling his helmet off and looking at her. “I’m not sure.”

 

“We could go back to the Palace.” Din offers. “Or… I need to drop Grogu back off.”

 

“I promised the womp rat he could paint my blaster.” Fennec says.

 

“Well,” Din laughs- that soft laugh that did not match his body at all. “Guess we could head back into town. They should have some paint there.”

 

“Mos Pelgo.” Boba nods. “Then the Palace.”

 

“... Then home.” Fennec says.

 

“Yeah… Home.” Boba looks at her. “That sounds nice.”

Notes:

End...

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