Chapter Text
“What are you looking at, little love?”
Boba’s voice was a pleasant melody in Luke’s ear, sounding delightfully warm and low over the pounding bass, sinking into Luke’s bones far deeper than the club’s music ever did. Luke leaned against Boba’s chest and settled a little further back in his lap, tucking his head underneath Boba’s jaw and rolling his hips as he got comfortable. It wasn’t entirely easy, sitting in Boba’s lap while he sat at a barstool, but Luke had good core muscles. Boba let out a low groan, and a moment later his lips were on Luke’s neck, warm and soft and lingering with the scent of tobacco and nicotine and ridiculously expensive booze. He kissed a bruise he had left behind the night before on Luke’s bare shoulder, just at the junction of his neck.
Luke hummed a single note, lifting his hand to cup Boba’s jaw in his palm and gently nudge him into looking back up. He drug his fingernails along Boba’s skin, then turned his head to where he had been staring.
“Ah,” Boba said. Luke could feel Boba’s smile on his skin as he drug his lips back up to the soft skin just behind Luke’s ear. “He is pretty.”
He was someone who didn’t look entirely out of place in Boba’s club, but it was obvious to Luke that this wasn’t the kind of place this man usually frequented. He moved through the crowd easily, dodging wandering hands like it was something he did every day. He must have, Luke thought, because this strange man was gorgeous. Yet Luke could see the tense lines in his shoulders, the way he looked around and jerked back when someone got too close too quickly. He wasn’t comfortable here. That was obvious. And yet he wasn’t completely out of his depth either. He knew how to look the part, at least. The leather jacket he wore—silver, Luke noticed, an unusual color—reflected the purple and red and blue neon lights like water. The black shirt he wore underneath was tight enough to show off muscle, his jeans all but painted on his legs, the brown curls of his hair kept up and out of his face with some sort of sweet smelling product.
He was hunting, Luke realized.
“Do you want to play with him?” Boba asked, realizing at the same time Luke did. He trailed his hands along Luke’s thigh, fingers warm through the leather Luke wore.
Luke turned his head and pressed an open mouthed kiss to Boba’s jaw, wrapping his arms a little tighter around Boba’s shoulders and digging his fingers into the hard corded muscle. He could feel the harness Boba was wearing underneath the dark green blazer, and when he ran his hand down Boba’s back and over his shoulder blades and down his side Luke could just make out the shape of a pistol. “Would you let me?”
“Of course,” Boba smiled. He left one hand on Luke’s thigh, fingers splayed in a lazy grip while his other snuck up the sheer black lace top Luke was wearing. He traced along old faded scars and newly left bites and bruises. Luke shuddered and leaned into each little touch.
It wasn’t really a fair question.
Boba very rarely told Luke no, although there were plenty of times where he should have.
“You spoil me,” Luke said anyway. He twisted around in Boba’s lap so he was fully looking at him. The low lighting of the club made Boba’s eyes look almost black, like pretty little gems hidden beneath rich brown earth. His scars were more prominent, a silvery white in the purple hues. Luke hooked one leg though the open gaps of the barstool to keep his balance as they rocked backwards, lifting a hand to trace along the long thin line going across Boba’s cheek. It was not the worst of his scars, but it was the one that made Luke ache the most. Boba moved both his hands to grip Luke’s waist, squeezing delightfully tight as they slipped and swayed to the pounding beat of the music. Luke was supposed to be dancing tonight, but if things went his way that hardly seemed like it was going to happen now.
“You deserve to be spoiled.” Boba hummed, leaning into Luke’s touch.
Luke groaned, cupping Boba’s cheeks between both his hands before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. It grew messy and sloppy, and they got dangerously close to tipping off the barstool the more Luke leaned into it.
“Can you not make out at my bar? Please?” Cobb’s voice cut across them suddenly, only sounding mildly irritated at best. There was a quiet clink of glass on wood. “You have a back room specifically for that.”
“Aw, I’m sorry,” Luke grinned as he pulled away from Boba, twisting back around towards the bar. He slid off Boba’s lap and leaned over the counter, kicking one leg out while propping the other up on the small platform the bar was on. Cobb didn’t pull back when Luke reached over to pat his cheek and run his fingers through his surprisingly soft hair, and he only scowled a little when Luke pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Luke could never manage to coax the bartender into his and Boba’s bed, but Cobb wasn’t one to turn away a kiss from either of them. “I didn’t mean to make you feel left out.”
Cobb rolled his eyes and slipped away from Luke to help Fennec with the growing crowd at the other end. He had left two tall electric blue drinks behind.
“Go have fun, little love.” Boba hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of Luke’s pants, gently pulling him back. Luke grinned, sliding between Boba’s legs as they fell open. “I’ll be here when you get back.” He lifted his hands up and under Luke’s shirt and settled them on his waist, rubbing gentle circles into his skin before dipping his hands down low and giving Luke’s ass a fond squeeze.
Luke swatted Boba’s chest. “Tease.”
Boba just smiled.
Luke took one of the drinks, leaving the other behind for Boba, and with the music pounding in his ears and the bass rattling his bones Luke took off after the strange man in the silver jacket. He had managed to make his way across the room in the time from when Luke first spotted him, settling at the table Boba always took when he wasn’t at the bar because it had a view of the whole club. The man shifted in the chair, lifting his hand to rest against his cheek.
Luke saw that jacket fall open just a peek at the moment, caught a flash of a black harness and the handle of a handgun and—oh.
Luke blinked, smiled, then surged forward.
“You look like you’re looking for something,” Luke greeted him with a shy smile and appreciative eyes as he slid into the chair across from him at the little table. Luke set the drink between them, a quiet offer for both of them. It was only now, underneath the brighter lighting, that Luke saw that Cobb sprinkled glitter in. “Can I help you find it?”
“No.” The man said. He didn’t look at Luke. His gaze was set firmly somewhere over his shoulder, but Luke didn’t mind. “I’m not looking for what you're offering.”
“How do you know what I’m offering?” Luke asked. He tilted his head as he looked the man over. His hair was a rich brown, curling underneath his ears. It was too dark to make out the color of his eyes, but Luke thought they must be very close to the color of Boba’s from how dark they were. He had a mustache, Luke noticed with delight, and this close the leather jacket wasn’t able to hide his broad shoulders and slim waist. Luke wanted to get that jacket off him and get a closer look.
The man glanced at him. His eyes drifted down Luke’s neck and chest before snapping up and over his shoulder. “I can take a guess.”
Luke hummed and took a sip of the drink. It was sweet and fruity. “Not your type?”
“I’m working.” The man said. He didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree.
Luke smiled at him over the rim of the glass, then set it back down between them. “There’s nothing wrong with mixing work and pleasure.”
“Still not interested.” The man frowned at something over Luke’s shoulder.
“Anything I could do to get you interested?”
The man finally looked at him. “No.” He said. He looked irritated, almost, but still breathtakingly pretty. Luke grinned, wondering what he could do to goad the man a little further. If he even could. He seemed like he was very put together and not one to snap easily, but that was always Luke’s favorite type to play with. “I’m not interested in getting involved with Fett’s things.”
Luke smiled wider. People usually jumped at a chance to play with Fett’s things. “Oh, he wouldn’t mind.”
“He’s looking at you.” He said dully.
“Bo likes to watch,” Luke replied easily, having no doubt that Boba was.
The man frowned, then snapped back up and to attention when he spotted something over Luke’s shoulder. Luke turned to look, but before he could finish the motion the man was already up and standing and circling the table. He grabbed the drink Like had brought, taking a long enough pull from it to let the faint scent of booze linger on his lips. His tongue darted out, licking the extra drops from the corner of his mouth as he set the drink back down in front of Luke. “Excuse me.”
And then he was gone.
Luke blinked, then finished turning around.
It took a moment before Luke recognized who Mr. Silver Jacket was stumbling up to. He was thin and scraggly with bleached blond hair and sunken eyes. Tran, Luke thought his name was. Boba had a bounty out on him—something about him owing Boba money for a botched job. Luke didn’t quite remember. He had been a little preoccupied when Boba told Fennec to put the hit out. Still, Luke had to admire the man. It was very brazen of him to come into the club like this, especially on a night where Boba was here.
Luke hummed, picking up his drink as he settled in to watch.
The man stumbled up to Tran with the gait of someone who had drunk enough to just be tipsy. There was a suggestive smile on his lips, one Luke wished had been turned on him, eyes half lidded as he slid up to Tran and put a hand daringly low on his waist. Luke took a long pull of his own drink at that one. The man—the bounty hunter—clearly knew how to flirt, and Tran was very clearly falling for it. He leaned against Tran, molded himself to his body with the ease and comfort of someone who had done it before. Tran wrapped an arm around his waist, murmured something in his ear, and Luke watched, fascinated, as they both walked out the door with the man’s drunk flirty persona falling with each step.
Luke stared. Then he downed the rest of his drink and wandered back over to Boba, leaving the empty glass behind.
“Well?” Boba held out an open arm, setting his drink down on the bartop.
Luke sat back in Boba’s lap. Boba wrapped a warm arm around his waist, giving Luke a gentle squeeze as Luke settled back in against Boba’s chest. “I want him.”
“Then we’ll get him for you.” Boba said easily. He reached for his drink again, sparing a glance at Fennec as he did.
Fennec rolled her eyes. “I didn’t sign up to get involved in your weird sex life.” She huffed, but she was already taking off her apron, slipping out from behind the bar and slinking through the crowd after the bounty hunter. He couldn’t have gotten very far, not with another person, but Fennec would find him either way.
“You should give her a raise.” Luke mused.
“I just gave her one.”
Luke plucked the drink from Boba’s hand and took a sip. “Give her another one.”
—
“I see you made it out of Fett’s in one piece.”
Din didn’t answer Bo-Katan. He just shoved the bounty at Axe so the other man could go haul him off to a cell and dutifly ignored the way Axe looked him over.
He had thought, for a moment, that he wasn’t going to make it out. Din knew exactly who the pretty little blond was when he waltzed up to Din. Luke Naberrie. One of the club's dancers and Boba Fett’s side piece.
Much more than a side piece, if the rumors were true.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Din asked. He stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, looping his finger through his key ring. He was going to leave no matter what she said. He wanted out of these clothes, wanted to wash the booze and glitter and cigarette smoke off his skin, wanted to see if his son was still awake enough for Din to softly sing him to sleep.
Bo-Katan frowned. “No.”
Din turned on his heel and walked out before she could think to say anything else. His phone buzzed sharply in his pocket as he reached his motorcycle, parked haphazardly on the side of the street. It was difficult hauling in bounties that way, but the speed of the bike more than made up for that little inconvenience. Din pulled out his phone as he swung his leg up and over his motorcycle, not bothering to unlock it and only sparing a passing glance at the screen. It was a bank notification, telling him the rest of the money Bo-Katan owed him was pending and would be dumped in his savings tomorrow morning.
Din slipped the phone back in his pocket.
The bike roared to life a moment later. Din let the engine idle for a few moments while he put his helmet on, then he sped off towards Omera’s apartment though Coruscant’s busy nighttime streets. She didn’t live too far from the police station, and soon enough Din was knocking softly on her door before using the key she gave him all those years ago and never bothered to take back to let himself inside.
Omera was in a light doze on the couch. A table lamp was on and a book was open in her hand, but she jerked awake when Din opened the door.
“Sorry,” he whispered, closing and locking the door softly behind him.
She shook her head, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she stood to greet Din with a hug. He leaned into it, holding her close and breathing in the lingering scent of her perfume and the fruity kids shampoo Grogu and Winta used.
“You’re in one piece.” She said as a greeting when she pulled back.
Din huffed out a laugh, letting her tug the jacket off him and unclip the chest harness so she could put Din’s handgun somewhere safe and out of reach of little hands. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”
“I always worry.” Omera said softly. She didn’t look at him as she spoke, keeping her back turned to him as she put the gun up on a high shelf and tucked it behind a framed photo of her and Cara and Winta.
Still, Din swallowed and looked down at the floor. There was glitter on his shoes. “I’m trying.”
“I know.” She said. “I know you are.” She paused, shook her head again and wandered back to him. “Grogu’s sleeping in the bedroom with Cara. He shouldn’t be too fussy if you want to take him home.”
Din shook his head and ignored the bit of disappointment in his stomach. “No, let him sleep.”
Omera smiled softly. “Couch is all yours.” she lifted a hand, running it through his hair. Her fingers stuck where Din put product in. He hated getting dressed up and dolled up in these tight clothes and sweet smelling perfumes and hair products, but it was far easier to get closer to targets this way. And Din had been more inclined to take the easier way these days. “I’ll get you some blankets. You take a shower.”
Din didn’t argue with her.
He toed off his shoes and threw them in the shoe pile by the door before heading to the bathroom. He turned on the water and let it warm while he stripped out of his clothes, silently apologizing to Omera at the shower of glitter that fell from them. Din hadn’t even been in the club for that long, but he was far too tired to try and figure out where all that glitter had come from. He scrubbed at his skin with Omera’s floral scented soaps until it was red and raw, worked some of Grogu’s shampoo through his hair until his scalp ached, and when he turned the water off and pulled back the shower curtain he was glad to see that Omera had slipped in and set a pair of his flannel sleep pants on the counter.
It was a pair he had left here when they broke up that Din hadn’t cared enough to take back.
Din towled himself dry before putting them on. He swooped down to pick up his shirt before deciding against it. That thing was covered in glitter and far too uncomfortable, and it wasn’t like Omera and Cara hadn’t seen him shirtless before.
He went back into the living room to find a neat stack of blankets and a few pillows on the couch, as well as a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the side table.
Din’s bounty hadn’t put up much of a fight this time, but he still popped a few to stave off the aches and pains that always came with sleeping on Omera’s couch before unfolding a blanket and burrowing underneath it.
He was not sure when exactly he fell asleep, nor how long he had been asleep, but the next time Din opened his eyes it was still dark out and Grogu had wormed his way onto the couch and into Din’s arms. The child had brought his little frog blanket, and he had thrown it on top of the one Din was already using. Din’s chest tightened, and he held his son a little closer while pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Grogu hummed softly, but did not wake.
Din thought of the new paycheck sitting in his bank account, and it was not the first time that it didn’t feel like enough.