Chapter Text
“so I wait for you like a lonely house/till you see me again and live in me./Till then my windows ache.”
-- Pablo Neruda, “Sonnet LXV”
Luke woke with the birds every morning in the summer so he could water his roses before the heat scorched them. He would put the kettle on and whistle for his dogs. He would walk from his back patio, the one he had spent two painstaking years hauling rocks from the local quarry and rearranging until he liked the way it flowed, and down the dirt path Ben had worn down after decades of evening walks. Artoo and Threepio would gambol around him, sniffing each rock and root like it was the first time they had ever been in the garden.
After the roses had been thoroughly soaked, he would meander back to the house to make his morning cup of tea (usually lemon and ginger) and plan out the rest of the day. Lately, they all followed a similar structure. Morning: check emails, water. Afternoon: mulch or weed, harvest. Evening: make dinner, read. Rinse, repeat. And Sundays, from April till October, heralded the farmer’s market, where Luke set up shop at the booth that Uncle Ben had rented for years from the organizer, whose smile was so infectiously broad that it threatened to consume her eyes in a cascade of wrinkled brown skin and who always had a new anecdote about Ben’s misadventures as a young man haunting the bars of Providence. There was something to be said for routine.
But this morning was slightly different from the others that had formed his summer praxis. There was a big U-Haul lumbering up the road, sending the dogs into a frenzy, and Luke looked up from his laptop to watch it rattle down the narrow country lane. The little cottage one door down from him had been on the market so long he’d almost forgotten about it -- he had even missed that it had sold. It was a cute place. Not big enough for more than a few people, he thought.
Intrigued, Luke shot his neighbor across the road a text.
the place next to me sold ??
Cobb🤠:
Yes.
Luke sighed at the terse response. The period -- that most simple and yet open-ended paragon of punctuation marks -- had the most baggage in his opinion. Did no one value the merits of a goss sesh anymore? As if invoked by his mild annoyance, his computer chimed again.
Cobb🤠:
Luke, you do realize it’s 6 am? On a Saturday?
His eyes automatically tracked to the clock above the counter and he grimaced because lo and behold, that was indeed the time.
oops lol! can I make it up to you with some fresh eggs?
Cobb🤠:
Yes. But later, I'm going back to sleep now. Go back to your yard work, knucklehead
Luke did not, in fact, go back to his yard work.
Instead, Luke lingered at the breakfast nook, trying to crane his neck at just the right angle to catch sight of the new neighbors while absentmindedly thinking of a nice way to apologize to Cobb, who had only moved in a few months ago. Maybe he could pick him up something from the farmer’s market, too? He was very invested in maintaining a friendship with someone outside of his gardening-centric circles and Cobb was great with the dogs. Even if Cobb had very gently turned down Luke’s advances upon his arrival -- an incident that had given his sister no shortage of merriment.
The Sunday market derailed his sneaky observation for a moment as he jotted down a few notes about what was ready to harvest and clip. But the squeal of brakes roused him from his musings and he whipped around again.
He had moved in three years ago -- right after Uncle Ben died, a scant handful of months after his college graduation -- and even then the cottage had been on the market. It was a running community joke at this point: the unsellable house down Naberrie way. Realtor signs cycled with the seasons and most of the local firms had thoroughly washed their hands of it. Aimless countryside gossip circulated at the farmer’s market and Luke could always be relied upon to chime in with the most current observations on its continued decline. The rumors were that it had been taken over by swarms of bees, or that it was painted lime green inside from trim to roof, or that the pipes were all lead and too expensive to replace.
Of course, Luke had poked around it a few times because, well, why not? It was only a few hundred feet from his door. It could even be viewed as neighborly -- sure, wasn’t he making sure it hadn’t collapsed completely? But the windows of the cottage were clouded with years of dirt and when he tried again just a month ago, the possum that had taken up residence under the porch had made its existence (and extreme displeasure) swiftly known. After the last time, he hadn’t tried again and he was careful not to walk his dogs in that direction anymore either.
The U-Haul lurched to a stop in front of the driveway and two men got out of the cab -- more than that, Luke could not see past his lilacs. But after a moment he thought he heard raised voices and he carefully slid the window open a crack --
“What the fuck!” A deep, hoarse voice placed emphasis firmly on the last syllable.
Luke bit back a snicker. It sounded like they had just gotten acquainted with the possum.
“Cyar’ika? What’s -- oh.” A quiet voice, smooth but edged with humor. “It’s just a possum.”
The other man sounded annoyed and Luke heard a distinct huff of breath, “Oh, it’s just a harmless little possum, isn’t it?”
“In its defense, you probably woke it up.”
“Oh, in that case --” Luke could almost hear the eye-roll as the possum was addressed directly now, “I don’t want to be awake at this hour either, burc’ya. But I must ask you to vacate the premises.” There was a rattle, a hiss, and then a yelp. The second voice snorted with laughter.
Luke pondered a moment. He could insert himself here and offer his services and, more importantly, those of his Havahart trap -- or he could continue to observe from afar. It seemed like the latter option would be the most entertaining if nothing else.
He also wondered if the two men were a couple. Not that he cared. Or would be disappointed. Not at all. Not one bit.
Luke continued to watch as the two men retrieved loppers and thick leather gloves from the cab of the truck and started working on the brush blocking the gravel drive but his nosiness was foiled by the chirping alarm coming from his phone: “6:15 a.m. -- water the veggies.”
“Ugh,” He grumped, typing one last reminder in his calendar before closing the lid of his laptop and rising from the nook’s bench. He drained the last dregs of his tea and tossed the bag in the compost can, and whistled for Artoo and Threeps. The corgi and the borzoi bolted through the kitchen from the living room and after a brief spat over who should go through the back door first galloped into the yard. Smiling as he followed them, Luke went to go turn on the water to the hose.
It was looking to be a hot summer -- it was already the muggiest July that he could remember and the morning air promised humidity despite its initial chill. As he filled a watering can, he watched out of the corner of his eye as the two men continued their efforts. They were making good headway already and the shape of the snaking gravel drive was reemerging under their skilled hands. Maybe he’d go introduce himself when they were done with that part. But casually. Just to say hi. Not to ogle their muscles (which appeared to be...spectacular...even from yards away), or observe how their brows glistened with sweat. Or get a closer look at their faces, which -- much to his frustration -- Luke was just too far away to pick out with any accuracy. And they were wearing bandanas to boot.
But a man could daydream. And Uncle Ben would probably have approved of his harmless fantasizing. Luke shook his head with a small grin and got back to work. His hands moved almost of their own accord as he pulled out the endless, hydra-esque weeds from his raised beds and he felt the dirt crumble underneath his gloved fingers. Working in the serenity of the garden, with the balance of mindless and skilled labor, was the finest way he’d found to honor Uncle Ben’s life and think through life. Uncle Ben had been endlessly supportive when he switched his major from Civil Engineering to Horticulture and had left him the house and an inheritance that was nothing to sniff at.
As the heat rose, Luke was reminded of the passing of the hours and he felt the sun travel over his head as he worked. Eventually, his dogs wandered back to him and rolled into the shade cast by the wooden walls of the raised bed, panting happily and covered in the evidence of their adventures. He felt sweat beading on his back as he surveyed his work with satisfaction. Artoo wiggled slightly and barked at him.
“Okay, I get it,” he laughed, shucking off his work gloves to run a hand through the fluff of Artoo’s belly, “Let’s take a break!”
He pushed off his knees and rose, smoothing some of the excess dirt off his trousers. The dogs led the way back into the house and he peeled off his apron and shirt as soon as he reached the back patio, tossing them aimlessly onto a deck chair.
Once inside, he immediately pulled open the fridge and his eyes wandered over the plums he’d been saving for breakfast. With a small noise of excitement, he pulled the cold carton to the front of the fridge and bit into a plum. He closed his eyes as the cold skin popped under his teeth and sweetness rushed over his tongue, juice spilling from the corner of his mouth. Absentmindedly, he registered the excited sounds of the dogs at the front door but he just couldn’t stop himself as he popped a second plum into his mouth, and then another.
“Uh, hi.”
Luke froze, his head still buried in the recesses of the fridge and a fourth plum filling his mouth. He kind of knew that voice. He’d heard it for the first time just a few hours ago.
This wasn’t exactly the way he’d planned on meeting the neighbors.
Luke quickly choked down the rest of the plum and sheepishly raised his head above the fridge door, pasting on a very panicked smile.
There was a very large, very handsome man in his mudroom, his body awkwardly wedged halfway between the front door and the porch as he attempted to avoid the attentions of Luke’s dogs. He was wearing very large sunglasses and a bandana was wrapped around his neck as if it had just been hastily pulled down from around his face.
Embarrassed was not the word. Mortified was more like it. Luke knew he should say something but he couldn’t quite get his mouth to form words again.
The man cleared his throat and -- oh, no, he’s hot -- motioned to his own mouth. “You’ve, ah, got something. On your face.”
Luke squeaked slightly and wiped a hand over the corner of his mouth, removing a sticky piece of stone fruit. Oh, god. The day had just gone from bad to worse. And at the same moment, he became intensely aware of the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt at the moment and that he had on his most raggedy and bleach-stained gardening trousers. And he was particularly aware of the fine crust of dirt that coated his arms and hands and his uneven suntan lines and --
Say something, Luke! The handsome man is about to wonder if you’re incapable of human interaction. The voice in his head sounded an awful lot like Leia, sometimes.
“Hi!” Luke squeaked out, “Um, you must be the new neighbor?”
The other man nodded and looked slightly pained as Threeps got up on his alarmingly long legs to take a lick at his face, paws resting on the man’s shoulders. His broad shoulders. Before he could stop himself, Luke’s eyes traveled over what he could see of his face: his tan skin, his artfully maintained mustache and stubble, his craggy nose. He wondered what color his eyes were.
“I’m so sorry!” Luke blurted out, crossing his arms awkwardly over his bare chest, “I can’t believe my dogs, they’re being very bad right now!”
Artoo looked over his fat shoulder from where he was seated directly on top of the stranger’s boot and shot Luke a distinctly unimpressed look. It was moments like this that made Luke painfully sure that he could understand human speech and that he just chose to ignore it whenever it didn’t suit him -- which was, frankly, most of the time.
Luke snapped his fingers and with an air of the deepest sadness, his dogs slunk back into the kitchen behind him. The neighbor inclined his head, still slightly uncomfortable.
“It’s okay. I like dogs. I’m sorry, too -- it’s just that the front door was ajar and I wanted to ask if you knew anything about the possum --”
That goddamn possum. Luke didn’t know if he wanted to give it a kiss or drive it out of town with an airhorn.
“Yes! I do! I have a trap, nonlethal of course if you’d like to borrow that…?” Luke trailed off, trying to sidle behind his dining room table and chairs to conceal his state of undress. He was pretty sure it was pointless but the effort at least made him feel a little bit better about the whole situation, a bit more in control.
The neighbor nodded and smiled -- and it was a sweet smile, one that showed off his dimples, god help him -- “I would love to borrow it. If you wanted to bring it over, I could introduce you to my partner, too?”
Luke very carefully kept his own smile up even as he felt his heart crack a bit. Partner.
“Of course! I can bring you some fresh eggs, too, if you’d like?” Oh, he was truly pathetic. Those were Cobb’s designated apology eggs but there was something about this man that made him go weak at the knees and then want to get down on said knees.
“Thank you but we don’t have a running fridge yet,” The neighbor shifted his weight, “But, maybe we’ll take you up on that offer next week?”
“Sounds great!” Luke chirped, “Give me just a moment and I’ll grab the trap.”
The neighbor gestured with his thumb at the door, “I’ll wait outside for you. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”
Luke waited until the front door shut with a decisive click before he let his smile slide off his face. He crumpled into the dining chair he had been attempting to hide behind. He pulled out his phone and shot off a barrage of texts in record time, while also noting that it was just past 9:00 in the morning.
SOS
have just mortally embarrassed myself in front of hot new neighbor(s?)
kindly send booze and/or a plane ticket to greece
farewell dear sister, for i depart anon
Leia 👯:
I’m sure it wasn’t that bad…
i was shirtless. and covered in dirt. and fruit juice. like an animal!
he had to tell me i HAD PLUM SKIN ON MY FACE
AND THEN! the dogs bowled over the poor man
Leia 👯:
Oh, Luke…
In all fairness, that does sound pretty bad
But you can’t just threaten to pull a Mamma Mia! every time something goes wrong
Luke sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket and pushed himself up from his seat. Everyone was a critic.
With haste, he bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reached his bedroom. Desperately, he rifled through his drawers and threw on the first clean shirt he could find -- the one Biggs made him his freshman year when he was feeling lonely and living on the East Coast for the first time, with “Tatooine Institute of Technology: It’s the TITs!” screen-printed on black cotton -- and thundered back down the stairs, turning the corner to reach the door to the basement and hurdling down those stairs too.
Having acquired the trap and brushing a few cobwebs from it, he herded the dogs out of the way to shut the front door behind him. His neighbor was, indeed, waiting for him underneath the twisted vine arbor that shaded his front sidewalk and upon seeing Luke in the doorway, slid his phone back in his pocket. The sight of him standing solemnly, dappled by the sunlight and surrounded by greenery was a vision that Luke felt unworthy of.
“I like your garden,” the neighbor said, “It’s vibrant.”
Luke blushed and waved his free hand in embarrassment. “Thank you! I have a stand at the farmer’s market -- which is this Sunday, you should come, I’ll give you the address -- where I sell cuttings and floral arrangements and anything I’ve got growing in the beds.”
The man had the patience of a saint to be putting up with his babbling. He just nodded and said simply, “I’d like that.”
The neighbor turned and started walking down the road to his house and Luke trotted behind him, trying not to bang the trap off his shins.
They had only been at the house for a few hours, but the exterior was already looking much better. The ivy that crawled along the bricks had been beaten back to a more reasonable coverage and the front porch had been freed from the dead skirts of hostas. And speaking of front porches…
The other new neighbor -- the partner, he didn’t even know their names yet -- was standing on the porch, leaning against the railing with a scowl on his face.
Luke almost stopped dead in his tracks. While not as tall as the other man, he was far broader and Luke felt his mouth start to water. He was also wearing sunglasses but he had removed his bandana entirely and was using it to mop his brow. Faded pink scars trailed across his shaved scalp, standing out against the rich brown of his skin, intersecting with the lines on his forehead. He cut an undeniably striking figure. Luke could almost feel his eyes boring into him from behind the polarized lenses and it was all he could do to not quail under their directness. He looked like someone who took no-nonsense. This was unfortunate because Luke was nothing if not full of the stuff.
“Hi,” Luke gulped but then waved, “I’m Luke -- Skywalker. I’m your neighbor.” He awkwardly gestured with the hand holding the trap and therefore the trap, too, back at his house. He winced as the trap swung back around and whacked him sharply. Oh, yes, he was particularly disastrous this morning.
The man grunted, and his partner walked up the steps of the porch to squeeze his arm and kiss his cheek quickly, whispering something in his ear that Luke couldn’t catch. The neighbor smiled, a large and private grin meant only for one other person, and then straightened up, crossing his arms. Luke’s gaze trailed over the large and corded forearms as they rippled with the motion and wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that smile.
“Boba Fett. Thanks for the trap.”
Luke waved his free hand this time, “Of course, anything I can do to help. The possum’s been there for about a month and I’d like to be able to walk my dogs down this way again.”
Fett nodded, “Shouldn’t take too long and we can get it back to you.”
“No rush, honestly. It’s not like I was using it.”
Silence descended but it felt warmer, easier than when he had first walked up the drive. Fett elbowed his partner and cleared his throat pointedly and the other man started.
“The name’s Djarin. Din. You can call me Din.”
Luke broke into a smile that was probably two shades warmer than it should have been, despite his best efforts.
“Nice to meet you, Boba, and you, too, Din. Well, I’ll just be over in my garden. Just holler if you need anything. And!” He fished around in his pockets until he found a blank plastic garden stake. “Do either of you have a pen?”
Wordlessly, Boba pulled a sharpie from a pocket and tossed it to him. Luke thanked his lucky stars that he actually caught the damn thing and hastily scribbled his cell number on it before tossing that to Din and the pen back to Boba.
“That’s my number, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you have any questions about the area or anything else! I hope you come to the farmer’s market, which is down on the Main Street.”
“I’m sure we’ll see you there,” Din nodded and passed his number to Boba, who studied it carefully before tucking it into his back pocket. Luke was charmed despite his best efforts not to be.
Luke waved a final time and turned around before he could embarrass himself again. He beat a hasty retreat back to his house, bumping against the doorframe absentmindedly until he staggered to a stop in his mudroom and took a series of deep, shuddering breaths as he felt heat wash over him. What was he doing?
If she was here, Leia would be scolding him about “boundaries” and “the sacred union of marriage” but she wasn’t here and there was something about his new neighbors. Both of them. He found himself in his bathroom before he could stop himself, slamming the door behind him and locking it out of an abundance of caution. He was achingly hard. Where Din was quiet and reserved, Boba seemed to have a fire under his skin that wouldn’t go out. Luke wanted to know what happened when Din let go of his restraint, what could shatter Boba’s aloofness and bring out the heat.
He was so fucked.
Whimpering quietly, Luke clasped one hand across his mouth and allowed the other to trail down his chest until he reached the front of his pants. His cock throbbed without even being touched and he moaned quietly. He quickly removed his other hand from across his mouth and used it to ruck up his shirt, hovering his fingers just above his sides as he imagined that its touch belonged to someone else as he slowly jerked himself off to the idea of a third hand around his cock, rubbing a thumb back and forth over his weeping head and smearing the precum around like it was some kind of holy rite, a benediction --
He leaned harder against the door, feeling the hardness of the doorknob against his back but the pressure was not unwelcome as he pictured work-hardened hands pulling him back, a broad thigh keeping him pressed into place as if he was stuck in between two bodies.
“Fuck!” He ground out as he increased the speed of his hand and as the tension mounted and crested in his abdomen, in his thighs. He broke with a gasp as he came all over his hand with remarkable spurts and his vision even whited out slightly. His legs shook with the tension that coursed through him and he staggered as he down hard, shaking his head as he slowly came back to himself.
As he washed his sticky hands, he met his own gaze in the bathroom mirror. He looked wrecked: flushed, eyes dilated, and there was still a piece of fucking plum in between his front teeth.
Luke groaned again, this time for a very different reason, and let his forehead thud against the mirror.