Work Text:
The helmet comes off first.
Boba always gives him the time to refuse, his hands just hovering near his head as he looks at him, a question in his eyes. It doesn’t matter that Din has removed his helmet over a hundred times in front of him, that he’s let Boba remove it and look and touch and kiss his face, Boba never takes it for granted. He could, Din would let him, he wouldn’t even mind, but Boba keeps asking and Din nods and holds his breath.
He always needs to brace himself a little bit so his face doesn’t do something too weird, because everytime Boba asks for his permission to remove his helmet and Din says yes, Boba looks at him like he can’t quite believe he gets to have this and it breaks Din’s heart. He doesn’t think Boba even realizes, and the last thing he wants is for him to start hiding this part of himself too. Boba is a lot better at schooling his features than Din is. He might have spent years hiding his face under his own helmet, but he’s also spent a lot of time without it while having to pretend to be much older.
Boba couldn’t afford to look anything but strong and confident and unwavering, so he carefully crafted the permanent scowl he reserves for most people, and the blank mask he slips on whenever he refuses to let anyone see what’s lying underneath.
But Boba’s eyes don’t lie.
No matter how hard he tries to hide what he’s feeling, Din knows he can find the truth in them. Right now, they’re telling him all the things Boba can’t and won’t voice out loud.
The helmet comes off and Din blinks before meeting Boba’s eyes.
He doesn’t feel like squirming and looking away like he used to, but it’s still as overwhelming as the first time Din found himself pinned by Boba’s gaze without being able to hide behind his helmet.
Boba looks at him like he can’t quite believe he’s real, like he expects him to disappear. There used to be a fight raging in Boba’s eyes whenever he looked at Din, but there’s nothing but peace and acceptance now.
Boba looks at him like Din could destroy him and Boba would let him.
It’s terrifying.
Din grabs Boba’s arm before he can shift away to put Din’s helmet on the armor rack. Boba stills and looks up as Din tilts his head down to gently press their foreheads together.
The reaction is immediate. Boba exhales shakily and closes his eyes. Din can feel him lean into the kiss, and the way his whole body relaxes. Din hums quietly.
“I’m fine, Boba,” he whispers softly.
The corners of Boba’s mouth turn down as he opens his eyes and pulls away to look at Din with a scowl.
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he mutters.
Din huffs. It’s fine. He knows Boba doesn’t worry and feel the need to check up on him because he doesn’t trust Din to take care of himself. This is more about Boba needing to make sure he’s fine than a lack of faith in Din’s abilities. It took him a while to realize that, but Din knows now. Maybe a part of him needs Boba to fret a little bit too.
He can still hear the utter fear in Boba’s voice, the way it rang in his helmet through the internal comm when he called his name as Din was struggling to breathe.
Boba isn’t the only one who needs reassurance.
Din lets go of his arm and watches as Boba carefully places his helmet on the armor rack before shifting to face him again. Boba doesn’t ask this time and grabs Din’s arm to start peeling off his glove and vambrace.
Even more so than sex and kissing with his helmet off, letting someone else remove his armor is the most intimate thing Din has ever done. There’s a difference between shedding his armor for Boba and letting him peel it off his body piece by piece. A difference Boba is perfectly aware of, because Din knows he was also the first one Boba let in so close.
Boba never rushes it. Even when they’re both tired and aching to just lay down and fall asleep, even when he can’t wait to get his hands on Din’s naked skin, Boba always treats the armor with the respect it’s due. His fingers brush against the cold beskar with something akin to reverence as they look for the latches and openings, and Din can almost feel the caress as if Boba was touching his skin.
Boba’s done this enough times that he could probably take off Din’s armor with his eyes closed, but he keeps them focused on his task. They both left their muddy boots near the door so Din soon finds himself down to his flight suit and socks, his armor neatly stored on its rack. Boba reaches for the opening of his flight suit, but Din grabs his hand before he can close his fingers around it.
“You too,” Din says.
“Din,” Boba growls with a scowl.
“Boba,” he says and finds the small opening between Boba’s glove and sleeve with his thumb. Boba inhales sharply as Din strokes the inside of his wrist with the pad of his finger. “Please.” I was scared too, he doesn’t say.
He doesn’t need to.
Boba’s face twists like Din punched him in the stomach, and he nods stiffly.
Din’s armor is precious because it’s a part of him, and because of how he acquired it.
Boba’s armor is precious because of who it belonged to.
Jango Fett’s ghost follows Boba wherever he goes. He’s in all the decisions Boba makes, and it sometimes feels like the ghost is the one making them for him. Din knows that whenever Boba’s eyes become clouded with doubts and anger and fear it’s because there’s a war raging inside his head; an endless fight between what Boba wants and what he thinks his father would want.
The ghost is losing more and more these days, and Din knows it’s because Boba’s fighting it tooth and nail for what he wants, and what he wants is Din.
That’s terrifying too.
Din takes his time. Piece by piece, Boba’s armor comes off and ends up on the rack next to Din’s.
“Satisfied?” Boba grumbles once Din is done.
Din knows it’s mostly to hide how affected he is, so he doesn’t comment, merely hums instead. Boba steps closer and opens Din’s flight suit. He peels it off his shoulders and arms, and makes it slide off his hips and down his legs until Din steps out of it and nudges it away with a foot. Boba’s eyes narrow when they find the cut on his left arm. Din rolls his eyes. It’s not even worth wasting bacta on it, he’s honestly more annoyed by the tear in his flight suit than by this tiny cut.
Boba grabs the hem of his shirt and starts peeling it off him. Din lifts his arms, the motion making him grit his teeth as pain flares in his right side. His shirt ends up on the floor and Din isn’t surprised to find Boba glaring at the massive bruise covering his chest.
“Nothing’s broken,” he reminds Boba. “I’ll let you put bacta on it after we shower.”
Boba looks up, squinting his eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Is it working?”
Boba doesn’t answer, he lifts a hand to brush his fingers against Din’s ribs instead. The touch is light, careful, and it pulls a shiver out of Din.
“I could hear you,” Boba mutters, his voice barely above a whisper but Din doesn’t miss the way it shakes.
It feels like someone plunged a knife between his ribs and twisted the blade. Din remembers struggling and fighting and gasping for air as the Mandallian Giant’s large foot crushed his chest and kept him pinned to the ground. He remembers Boba calling his name and telling him to hold on. He remembers the plea in Boba’s voice, and thinking he couldn’t possibly let Boba watch the first person he let himself care about since he was a child die in front of him.
“I couldn’t get to you, but I could hear you,” Boba croaks out and Din knows instantly that he isn’t really with him anymore.
His right hand finds Boba’s while he reaches out with his left to grab the back of Boba’s neck and drag him closer.
“I’m here,” Din says and presses his forehead against Boba’s, feels him shudder and tightens his grip around his hand. “I’m here, I’m fine.”
He can’t promise him it won’t happen again. He can’t promise him he’ll always make it out alive. They’re not children, and Boba wouldn’t want it anyway. There is nothing Boba Fett hates more than empty promises.
Din closes his eyes and shifts his head to brush his lips against Boba’s scarred cheek. “You made it,” he says and kisses him again. “You fought and you won and you found me,” he finds Boba’s lips and kisses them gently, swallowing the shuddering breath Boba lets out as he melts against him. “And I fought and I won so you could find me,” Din whispers hoarsely.
Boba makes a low, pained sound at the back of his throat.
“I told you I’d never stop fighting to remain by your side,” Din reminds him. “I meant it.”
Boba surges forward to crush their lips together in a hungry kiss. Din makes a startled sound, but he quickly presses back, his fingers digging into the back of Boba’s neck and feeling heat pool in his guts when that earns him a low moan. It’s wet and desperate and messy. Boba lets go of his hand to grab his hips and pushes Din until he’s forced to take a few steps backwards. Din’s back hits the wall behind him and the motion awakens the pain in his ribs, making him hiss.
Boba immediately pulls back. “Kark, sorry,” he mutters.
Din closes his eyes for a second and leans back against the wall. “It’s okay.”
“I should let you shower,” Boba says, looking away, and that just won’t do.
“Boba,” Din calls before he can do something stupid like walking away.
Boba frowns and looks up, a sullen look on his face. Din strokes the back of his neck with his thumb.
“You’re not done undressing me,” he says.
Boba blinks. Din arches a brow at him and that’s all it takes for Boba to snort and shake his head; Din grins, relief washing over him.
“Elek, alor,” Boba purrs.
Din’s breath hitches as Boba hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of his shorts and starts pulling them down. He doesn’t expect Boba to kneel down but he probably should have, because that’s just how Boba is, stubborn and committed once he makes a decision. Boba grabs his right calf to make him lift a foot and Din follows the instruction, his heart speeding up inside his chest as he watches Boba peel off his sock. He repeats the motion with his other foot, and Din exhales shakily when Boba looks up, a satisfied grin pulling on his lips.
The sight of Boba on his knees for him is enough to make Din’s cock twitch with interest and his face burns when Boba arches a brow at him. He looks like a pleased tooka, seconds away from purring loudly and Din’s knees feel weak when he sees Boba lick his lips and lean forward.
“Wait,” Din says, his voice rough.
Boba stills, his eyes wide in fear of having misread the situation, so Din brings a hand to his face and cups his cheek gently.
“Not like that,” he tells him.
Din loves when Boba gets on his knees for him. He loves how eager he is to take him apart with just his mouth, how good he is at it. Din doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the way Boba closes his eyes and simply lets Din use him, of how much Boba trusts him to let him do that.
But it’s not what Din wants today.
Boba doesn’t look disappointed, he simply rises to his feet, a question in his eyes as he leans into Din’s hand, shifting his head slightly to press a kiss into his palm. Din smiles and reaches for Boba’s clothes to tug on them and start undressing him. Boba huffs and helps him remove the layers covering him.
Finally, they’re both naked and Din lets his gaze roam across the expanse of exposed skin before him. He knows each of those scars by heart by now, how they feel under his hands and lips and tongue. He knows exactly where to touch to make Boba shiver and moan and the places to avoid because the nerves were too damaged by the sarlacc and only serve as a reminder of the things Boba lost.
He knows him inside and out, and that’s why he doesn’t even need to look at his face to imagine the flush on Boba’s cheeks and the pout on his lips as he averts his gaze, embarrassed.
Din looks up anyway.
He grins and chuckles when Boba rolls his eyes. Din grabs his arm and gently tugs to pull him closer and kiss him. Boba hums and Din leans against the wall behind him, parting his legs to make room for him. Boba’s hands find his hips and Din wraps his own arm around Boba’s neck. It’s slow this time, slow and tender and Din closes his eyes and loses himself in the heat radiating from Boba.
He shifts closer and Din groans when he feels his hardening cock brush against Boba’s belly.
“What do you want?” Boba asks huskily.
“Your hands,” Din rasps.
He’s tired and his whole body aches but Din could stand on his sore legs and feet for hours if it means he gets to feel Boba’s hands on him.
Boba hums low in his throat and reaches between them to cup Din’s cock. “Like this?” he asks and Din moans as Boba starts stroking him until he’s fully hard. Din drops his head down, bracing himself with one hand pressed against Boba’s chest. He can feel the muscle shift under his palm as Boba moves his arm to stroke his cock slowly, gently pulling back the foreskin to brush his thumb against the head. Another moan falls from his lips and Din curls in on himself. The position isn’t ideal considering his bruised ribs, but Din doesn’t even care.
[Artwork by nim-lock]
He shifts his head, just enough to let his lips and nose brush against Boba’s neck and inhales deeply, the scent of gun oil and sweat and the cream he uses for his damaged skin clinging to Boba’s skin and making Din feel dizzy.
He smells like home.
“We have a perfectly good bed and you’re making me jerk you off against a wall,” Boba whispers in what Din thinks is supposed to be an exasperated tone.
Din snorts, the sound turning into a moan as Boba twists his wrist and squeezes his cock, making him buck his hips into his hand. “Don’t— ah, don’t act like you weren’t just on your knees about to suck me off,” he retorts.
“I should have seen this coming,” Boba mutters, completely ignoring Din’s accusation. “You’re always horny after getting your ass handed to you.”
Now that’s an unfair accusation. Din digs his short nails into the meat of Boba’s chest and relishes in the groan it earns him.
“You’re such a hypocrite,” Din laughs. “We barely made it to the bedroom the last time you almost died.”
“The last time I managed to win a fight despite the odds, you mean. It isn’t about the near-death experience for me, but you?” Boba asks and shifts his other arm to press his palm against Din’s bruised ribs.
Din throws his head back and keens.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Boba chuckles darkly. “You’re a freak, Djarin.”
“G-get karked, Fett,” Din laughs, pleasure and pain coursing through his veins and making his head spin.
Boba’s hand settles back on his hips, his grip loose but ready to catch him as his thumb gently strokes his skin. The hand around his cock is warm and a bit sweaty and Din can feel the calluses and scars covering Boba’s palm and fingers with each stroke.
“That’s it,” Boba encourages him softly and Din tries to shift his hips and fuck into his fist, but his bruised ribs ache and Din hisses. “I’ve got you, just let go,” Boba chides him. Din whines and squeezes Boba’s shoulder, feeling his orgasm drawing closer.
“Yes, just like that,” Boba whispers and shifts closer to kiss him. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he presses into Din’s mouth before biting on his lower lip, pulling a helpless moan out of him. “Kriff, I’d sit on your cock and ride you until you forgot your own name if I wasn’t so karking tired,” Boba hisses and swallows the strangled sob Din let’s out as he comes.
Boba strokes him through his orgasm until it becomes too much and Din whines, his knees buckling under his weight and forcing Boba to wrap an arm around his waist and hold him up.
Din holds onto him and buries his face against Boba’s neck, gasping to catch his breath.
Boba hums and shifts his head to gently nuzzle his hair. “Feeling better?” he rumbles, his hand stroking Din’s back.
“Hm, yes,” Din replies hoarsely and kisses his neck. Boba’s skin is warm and salty, the taste clinging to his lips. Din lets go of Boba’s chest to reach between his legs and return the favor, but he finds Boba’s cock only half hard.
“Don’t worry about me,” Boba says. “Told you, m’too tired.”
Too tired and still feeling too raw and vulnerable to receive this kind of attention, Din reads between the lines. His heart aches to soothe Boba’s fears and pain, but he knows this is something he has to work on on his own.
“Okay,” Din replies and lifts his head to kiss him softly on the lips. Boba returns the kiss and presses his forehead against his when they part to breathe.
“We still need to shower, don’t we?” Din mutters.
Boba arches a brow and lifts his right hand, still covered in Din’s release. Din scrunches up his nose and gently pushes Boba away to make his way towards the ‘fresher, rolling his eyes as Boba snickers behind him.
It’s a gross and annoying sound; Din loves it.
MANDO'A
"Elek, alor" = "Yes, boss" or "Yes, sir", that works too, kinda.