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The invitation comes on her private comlink channel. A gathering for dinner, a small party on an out of the way terrestrial planet, chosen for its remoteness and relative isolation.
“It will be a good time,” Bo-Katan assures him, smiling encouragingly. “It’s not often we have opportunities to get together and celebrate.” There’s a wistfulness in her tone, and a hint of melancholy he detects in her expression. There might have been a time when a purely social call among her peers might fill him with awkward dread, but he is long past that.
He doesn’t hesitate to agree.
As she speaks about how fortunate and rare it is to find another to share one’s life with, how happy she is that the daughter of her dear friend knows how it feels to be wanted and truly loved, Din is sure he would travel just as far and wide, across galaxies if it came to that, to stay by Bo-Katan’s side.
In a little tavern, cozy and humble, full of warm firelight and the aroma of hearty cooking, he sits among her friends and associates, some of whom he recognizes, and others he is still meeting for the first time. They are spread out at different tables in the room, yet still seated near each other – the space is that small. The entire room is gathered in community. Conversations flow between comrades old and new, moving across and between the bustle of bodies, breathing inward and outward, bouncing against each other, creating ripples in a timeline of friendships and acquaintances as past and present converge. Din is not sure what it is, but the feeling of something is thick in the air. It may be the first time that these particular sentients have assembled in one place like this, he thinks, yet the countless bonds and shared histories are dense, spread out like a lattice unfurling, uniting everyone in an invisible mesh.
The couple they are here for sits among the group. A woman with brightly painted beskar’gam, short cropped purple-tinted hair, almond eyes, and red painted lips. He knows her, has met her before. Her partner, a man around the same age, with dark wavy locks, full mustache and beard framing piercing blue eyes laughs at a joke, rubbing the small of his betrothed’s back. Both seem to seek any excuse to touch each other, unable to tolerate even a moment of separation; a hand placed lightly on the other’s shoulder, fingertips trailing the edge of a wrist, small reassurances sought to confirm the other is truly, permanently there.
Other familiar faces are scattered through the crowd. Din’s gaze makes contact with a Togruta, lekku draped over orange shoulders, sky-colored irises lit from within, brimming with the unseen energy only others like her and Grogu can manipulate. There are a lot of force-users here. Maybe that accounts for the clandestine nature of this gathering. Din used to think Grogu’s powers were a rarity among the galaxy – in Din’s entire lifetime prior to meeting his son he had never encountered anyone like him. But here the air is weighted with the active potential such sentients can command, and though Din considers himself as sensitive to its energies as a boulder settled in the path of a stream, even he can feel the currents and eddies swirling around him.
Grogu, for his part, is comfortable here. He sees his son with a young humanoid boy with green hair, accompanied by his tall and stately Twi’lek mother. She appears deep in conversation while the boy sits with Grogu, R5, and another beat up, patched together astromech. There is a kind of gleeful abandon in their gesticulations and sounds that sets a glow of warmth in Din’s chest. No one in the group produces the same type of speech, yet all are fully able to understand each other.
He turns his attention to Bo-Katan. She looks disarmingly comfortable sitting beside him. Her face is soft and relaxed, with just the slightest redness around her eyes leftover from earlier, emotion spilling over her cheeks in wet trails as they greeted their hosts, clasping forearms with her fellow vod with the brightly painted armor, also beset by freely running tears. They embraced tightly before Bo-Katan murmured, so gently that perhaps only he could overhear. “Your family would be so proud.”
Right now that softness is turning to incredulity as the one sentient Din knows here without a direct connection through Bo-Katan settles in next to them and proceeds to pitch his new business venture, to assist in the glory of the reconstruction of Mandalore.
Din rolls his eyes, thankful that no one else can see him doing so under his helm.
The Weequay seated before them had stumbled in late, gripping the neck of an open bottle of alcohol. Upon setting his eyes on that telltale Desevrar infantry helmet and goggles Din inwardly groaned, hand instinctively reaching for his blaster before Bo-Katan intercepted his grip without a single hint of outward concern, twisting her fingers warmly through his.
They both watched with keen interest as the sentient’s coat-tails swayed as he swaggered up to their hosts. The young man with the dark wavy hair broke out in a wide grin. “You made it,” he exclaimed softly, clasping forearms with his eccentric friend before being pulled into a deep, crushing hug, the pair swinging back and forth with affection.
His betrothed blushed with a nervous giggle as the Weequay dropped to one knee with exaggerated flourish, grasping her hand in his before grazing the back of her palm with his lips. “Mando Girl, you grow ever more beautiful,” he proclaimed.
And now the pirate is here offering his company’s transport services to Bo-Katan for an exclusive and incredibly overpriced fee. Din’s fingers are still entwined with Bo-Katan’s otherwise he would have his palm on the handle of his blaster. Even when going legit the old rogue can’t help but attempt to run a grift. As that saying goes in Basic…
“So you’re not a pirate? Or a bounty hunter?” Bo-Katan asks the Weequay, looking over at Din for confirmation.
“I have been many things in this galaxy,” he responds, swaying slightly, still gripping the open bottle he brought with him, “but the real question is not what I have been, but what can I become? One should never let one’s actions in the past foreclose on the possibilities of a brighter future.”
Bo-Katan treats their associate with a small smile, genuinely charmed by his words.
“Whatever your planet needs,” he continues, “my transport company is uniquely positioned to deliver. It would be my honor to serve you.”
“Is that so?” Bo-Katan offers indulgently, with just enough sincerity to alarm Din. She couldn’t possibly…
“Of course, your Majesty. ”
“Call me Lady Kryze.”
“Lady Kryze,” the pirate repeats, his tone full of flowery deference, “as I was saying, my company and my services are highly sought after, and I take on only the most discerning clients, but it would be an honor to count you and Mandalore among them.”
“This is a party, not a solicitor’s convention,” someone calls out. It’s Koska, sauntering over with a knowing grin. “Quit talking business.”
“Madame,” The Weequay bows, instantly yielding to the head of Bo-Katan’s security detail. A position Din and Koska had a minor quibble over before coming here. You are her consort and an invited guest! Don’t be a literal buckethead. Din lost. Only a fool would oppose the formidable will of a Mandalorian woman once her mind has been made up.
“That bottle is almost empty,” Koska replies, nodding towards the alcohol still clutched in the Weequay’s hand. There are endless spirits on tap for guests and Din questions if encouraging Ohnaka to drink more is a wise thing to do.
“Call on Mandalore if you are ever near our system” Bo-Katan interjects, moving decisively to conclude the conversation, nodding with an earnestness and respect Din finds admirable, if misdirected.
“Certainly, Lady Kryze.” The Weequay bows, surprised and excited as Din rolls his eyes once again. “Your consideration pleases me greatly.” The pirate bows once more before glancing at Din with a sly grin, “And good to see you too, old friend.”
Friend. Yeah, sure. Din grouses internally, leaning forward on his elbows over the table, not caring who sees him attempting to appear at his most menacing.
This only earns a chuckle from the Weequay who snaps his fingers before sashaying away, smiling.
“Simple creatures. So easily satisfied.” Koska sighs, cryptically, arms folded in front of her, eyebrow arched suggestively, seemingly referring to much more than just the happy-go-lucky pirate wandering away.
“Ko-ska,” Bo-Katan sing-songs back, “whatever are you talking about?” She replies with mock innocence, the gleam in her eyes an indication of a game being played, one that Din is clearly not privy to, leaving him suddenly wondering if he should feel jealous, even though he is more solidly assured of his relationship with Bo-Katan than he has ever been.
“You know you used to never be the type to want to please a man,” Koska whines. She flicks her eyes over to Din and winks. Fun and games, Din reminds himself. This teasing familiarity at his expense is the way Koska shows affection.
“Who says I am now?” Bo-Katan challenges good naturedly, her expression turned feline and predatory in a way he hardly recognizes. “Men please me, not the other way around.” she scoffs.
Koska raises both eyebrows and gives Din an appraising look, the kind of which shoots through him like a gamma ray straight through his insides.
“Whatever you’re doing, Din Djarin, keep doing it.” Koska smirks before focusing her attention on a blonde woman against a far wall, chin-length bob, light blue eyes, and dark robes, awkwardly poised, eyes darting across the room like a trapped animal that can’t decide whether to flee or fight. A light saber dangles from her hip. “Don’t forget to inform your security detail when you’re ready to depart,” Koska says, as she catches the blonde woman’s eye, and flashes a comely smile. “See you later, lovebirds,” she tosses over her shoulder as she hones in on a new target.
Bo-Katan practically cackles, delighted. This is the Bo-Katan the public at large never gets to see. The one that laughs at off-color jokes and indulges in bawdy innuendo, who heartily approves of her friend’s pursuit and fulfillment of carnal and base appetites. The Bo-Katan who deliberately makes comments she knows to be untruthful – banking on the fact that he’ll call her on it in private. It’s a game they play where shared victory is assured, usually ending with her recanting her words with her legs spread beneath him.
“Men please you, but not the other way around?” Din leans over her shoulder, skeptically repeating her words back to her. He rumbles into her ear, voice low and intimate. “But you do please me.”
“You’re no ordinary man,” She counters, the corners of her mouth upturned, not denying that indeed she spends much of their private time together pleasing him in every way he could possibly imagine.
“What kind of man am I then?”
She stares straight into his eyes, through the darkened vizor of his helm, holding his gaze steady and clear.
“Mine.” She says simply.
The smile on Din’s lips is automatic. She’s right about that.
Later in the lodge they’ve booked for the night, Din watches Bo-Katan as she prepares for bed. She moves seemingly without burden or care, but he knows better. The entire building has Mandalorian Royal Guards posted discreetly everywhere, with even more surveilling a well defined perimeter outside. The Mand’alor has a strict security detail, accompanying all trips off-world, even one this quiet and personal.
Din, having already removed his own clothing, is occupied with stacking armor.
“I know tonight was supposed to be a joyous occasion,” she sighs, loosening beskar plates with the practiced ease of routine learned over a lifetime, “but part of me can’t help but think about everyone we’ve lost, everyone who should be here.”
Grogu is with Ahsoka. He and Bo-Katan already bid their son good night, cooing in the arms of their force-wielding friend, the two looking at each other as if sharing secrets mysterious and unknowable between them. It used to unnerve Din, the way that Grogu could look through him as if staring at the very filament of his soul. Nowadays however he’s quite content with the fact that there are realms that Grogu walks through that he will never be able to follow.
After removing the last of her armor Bo-Katan stands, letting her flight suit slip to the ground. She heads to the large transparisteel windows overlooking this planet’s sea, suspended on the horizon in an eerie half-light common in this system late into the night. As she reaches for the drapes her firm backside is on full display, highlighted against the expanse of blue, painted in moonlit hues from floor to ceiling.
“Leave it open,” he calls out.
She turns to face him and the air rushes from his lungs. All these years and her beauty still hits him hard. It washes over him in a pulse of energy reverberating in waves, the remaining echoes settling heavily in his groin.
During his time in the Guild he’d seen dancing girls and working girls, and all manner of feminine entertainment arranged and presented in the most elaborate ornamentation and states of undress, but none of it has ever been as affecting as Bo-Katan in her simple utilitarian undergarments.
Her plain black briefs are stretchy and thin, fitted to allow for freedom of movement, but remarkably modest considering the sway of her hips as she walks while wearing them. Even the high neckline and extra coverage of her top, a matching mock-neck compression band, cannot hide the swell of her breasts and the tight pebbled outline of her nipples through the fabric.
Din steps towards her pressing her against the window, the telltale hardening of his cock affecting his gait. She tilts her head to face him, delight pressing upward into her eyes. Her features, etched in moonlight and shadow float before him, a composite of every fantasy he has ever had of her, yet all the more vital since the woman before him is real. She places a gentle kiss on his lips and he melts into the tenderness of her touch, plunging further into the spinning sensation of his head and heart, tumbling into the feeling she stirs within.
Shifting his knee between her legs, he presses upward against the moist fabric covering her mound. Heavy hands grasp willing hips, grinding her core along his thigh. Bo-Katan gasps, her response instinctive, hot and eager. Her sighs fill the air as Din palms her breasts trailing wet kisses along her neck. As he pulls away he takes in her dazed expression and blown pupils, limp arms dangling forgotten by her sides. He is tempted to have her right there. It wouldn’t be the first time, upright or against a window, but it wasn’t his intent to give anyone looking up at the facade of the lodge a prime view of their rutting.
Instead he sweeps her into her arms, lifting her beneath her knees. She moves with him, draping around him, fluid like water, and he briefly thinks how much he likes being the boulder to the stream of her thoughts, more than happy to be something solid and reliable for her to cling to.
He brings Bo-Katan to the bed, to the part of the room half-cast in shadow, not quite dark, but dim enough to provide some cover while still bathed in this planet’s dream-like glow. Setting her down gently he moves his body over hers. Heat suffuses from her limbs, her skin flushed, arms and legs all supple friction, inviting and warm as they pass across his skin. Din rests on his haunches, Bo-Katan laid out before him. Her hair fanned in disarray around her head, lean toned arms splayed across the sheets, compression band straining against her breasts. The lithe outline of her waist curves into an hourglass ending with her knees resting on either side of him.
“Take off your top. Let me see you,” Din rumbles as he runs his hands along her thighs. Even in the dim light he can tell his words make her blush, and there is an odd satisfaction that after all their time together he can still have that effect on her.
With steady eye contact she reaches for her top and slowly pulls it overhead as his gaze sweeps over her exposed breasts, tightened nipples clearly begging to be fondled and licked. His eyes flick to her briefs. She nods, reaching for the hem of her panties, slipping them off, revealing the rest of her smooth abdomen and moist center.
With just a slight shifting of her legs she is open for him again. Before he can think he’s lifting her hips, cupping her ass, placing his mouth on her velvet folds. Her appreciative hum drives him on as he licks and sucks, occasionally running his tongue along the length of her slit. Her fingers reach his crown, threading through the unruly strands extending along the curve of his scalp, twisting into fists as he intensifies his attentions. When he elicits that first pained moan, his satisfaction surges, the thrill of her pleasure never dulling in impact.
“Mmmhmmm” he rumbles, the reverberations of his voice ringing through her flesh.
“Din” Bo-Katan chokes, barely able to speak.
He answers with a groan against her skin as he slips one, then two fingers into her tight sheath, peppering light kisses on the inside of her thighs. His fingers synchronize with the flick of his tongue eliciting half-choked gasps and swallowed moans. Din’s ministrations are relentless, pushing her to a crescendo, increasing in tension with the volume of her moans.
Right before her climax he withdraws his hand.
Her frustrated cry lingers in the air. It’s enough to almost make Din change his mind, the impulse to bring her to the peak of her pleasure nearly overtaking him. Yet the need to have her encased around him is greater. The thought of her pussy tightening in rhythmic contractions around his pulsating cock — he sharply inhales, sliding upwards along flustered skin both sticky and damp.
“Do you want me?” Din rasps against her lips. Gripping himself at his base he rubs against her folds, the slick moisture leaving him nearly dizzy. She opens her mouth, pulling on his lower lip covered in her taste, sucking hungrily.
“Yes.” She sighs, kissing the corners of his mouth, her voice just barely above a whisper.
There is no one else around to hear them, but their words are fervent, hushed.
“You know I love to hear it,” he insists, kissing her again, tongue filling her mouth while he presses himself further into her. The sensation clearly overwhelms Bo-Katan, her hips rolling while whimpering into their kiss.
“I want you, Din, all of you,” she cries with his shallow thrusts, throwing her head back as he straightens upright, giving himself a full view of her spread legs and split pussy, breached with his tip.
He gives her what they both want and pushes into her, expelling a ragged breath as his eyes roll back into their sockets. She is so wet he slides in without much resistance, but the friction of her interior muscle makes his eyelids flutter, all awareness telescoped on the singular point where their bodies intersect. He starts moving, savoring the glide of her skin against his. Each thrust pressing a little deeper, working his way slowly in.
Din’s touch is possessive, commanding, but there is love and worship in the way he handles her, recognition of the preciousness of the gift she gives him. For while there have been others, for both of them, not a single other soul has ever been with Bo-Katan Kryze like this. The way she is with him, soft, pliant, begging for every last inch he has to give — this is only for him. It isn’t just her submission, though that turns him on, he’ll admit. It’s her trust, so complete it leaves nothing between them, her willingness to yield everything to be with him.
Working her back along the path to her climax is easy. She’s already nearly there. Their rhythm is coordinated, synchronized, a natural reciprocity between body and heart. Whether it was always there, or developed slowly, Din doesn’t know or care, all that matters is that what they share is real. “You feel so good,” he encourages, as she flushes and deepens her breath. What they’re doing is pretty tame compared to some of the things they’ve tried, but it’s entirely gratifying nonetheless. In the end he’s a very simple man with uncomplicated needs. As long as some part of him is inside her, he’s satisfied.
“Kair’ta,” she exclaims as he stretches her along his entire length. She grasps his face between his hands, pulling him close, pressing her nose and forehead to his. “You are mine,” she repeats as he thrusts, claiming him, all of him. And he wants to be claimed, marked and owned, possessively held and cherished and loved by her, over and over again.
Soon she’s flexing around him, the ring of her entrance and the ring of her mouth quivering together. It’s mesmerizing, watching as her features crumple while her abdomen tones, hips rolling as she seeks more of him, all of him, just as she says. She keeps her eyes open, never breaking contact, holding nothing back, not even the depths of her most intimate pleasure.
Din rides her through the rest of her orgasm, quickening his pace, reaching spots so deep that when he’s done leaving himself within her not a single drop will escape.
The thought breaks the trip wire to his own release.
It starts with the tip of his cock. A tingling sensation followed by pressure tightening in his balls, sucking air from his lungs, a dark star of coiled energy pulling inwards until it finally snaps in an explosion of white light and noise, relief thrumming through his veins.
Wrapped in her embrace, twisted together in a tangle of arms and legs, he marvels that someone like her wants him. Sometimes he can hardly believe this life and her love is real.
Belonging to someone, having someone belong to you. It’s something he never thought he’d want. There’s a part of him that knows and believes that no sentient can truly belong to another. He has seen enough of trafficked and enslaved beings across the outer rim to ever think any other way. But that’s not how it works for him and Bo-Katan. For them belonging is a choice, a decision made freely of their own will and volition. The distinction is everything.
It feels good to be wanted. It feels good to be loved. And she does want him and love him, Din Djarin of Concordia, born on Aq Vetina, Mandalorian foundling, former bounty hunter and Child of the Watch. With Bo-Katan he is not “Mando,” a fetish, a trophy fuck, a passing novelty to brag about to friends. She has never looked at him as a mark or a target, someone to swindle or steal from, a being to manipulate and influence with offers of easy sex.
Din doesn’t talk about it much, but he’s broken his share of hearts. Life on the outer rim was harsh, and he knew how many sentients viewed Mandalorians. It never took much. Simply showing up, usually in pursuit of a target or at an unexpected stop for maintenance would do the trick.
Many thought he could be a good provider or offer protection, his armor a blank canvas to project their fantasies of security, something not unreasonable for sentients living on violent and unpredictable worlds. Though they never said it, instinctively he knew they didn’t want him. They wanted what a Mandalorian represented, the power of his weapons and physical strength. They didn’t know or care about the person underneath the armor. In fact, they might have been underwhelmed by his common looks, tan skin and brown eyes, dark hair falling unruly across his brow. The presence of a Mandalorian could ward off pirates and thieves, would intimidate all but the most brazen of criminals. Din Djarin, on the other hand? A foundling with dead parents who worked his trade to provide for his tribe? He didn’t think any of the sentients he encountered could truly understand.
He was sure to never promise anyone anything. Nothing more than fleeting pleasure, if that. Usually it was more like scratching an itch or blowing off steam. And even more often he would decline, particularly when he could tell the interest was coming from a good, decent person. Those were always the type whose innate desire for something real and authentic could not be crushed, even by the casual brutality of their daily lives. He refused to add to their troubles. Nothing would be casual, despite their protests otherwise.
When he first met Bo-Katan she struck him as neither good nor decent. Their first introduction left him resentful, burning with frustration over the haughty pretender with an uncovered face who dishonored the armor of their people. He still thought about taking her then, even as he reviled her immodesty. The proud toss of her fiery hair as she pulled her helm off her head, emerald eyes and pink lips sending lust surging to his groin, all the while the outraged exhortation he had come to regret countless times since, spilled out from him.
“You are not Mandalorian.” he accused.
Years later and he is still not able to fully shake his chagrin. His past ignorance remains a source of embarrassment, returning with a telltale sting whenever the recollection is brought up. Bo-Katan dismisses the insult entirely, having left the alacrity of their initial meeting solidly in a past she has no desire to revisit, least of all as a source of humor or amusement at his expense. Axe and Koska on the other hand, he understands it as good natured ribbing reflecting a certain acceptance and familiarity, but he doubts the regret it conjures will ever entirely disappear
Bo-Katan… Bo… the Mand’alor. He glances over at her, asleep beside him, all softness and satiated warmth in slumber after several rounds of bringing her to orgasm, yet capable of cowing men twice her size when awake with merely a glance. The most exemplary representative of their people, not Mandalorian. He shakes his head.
And now a Mandalorian Jedi, betrothed to another Jedi and off-worlder, prefers to make her home on Lothal, going long stretches without wearing armor, as do many of their brethren who have since returned to Mandalore.
They are all her people.
The blue horizon hovers beyond the transparisteel windows, quiet and hushed in the middle of the night. He had awoken suddenly, his habit of being a light sleeper attenuated to possible danger still prone to being roused even when clearly no threat exists.
“Karta’ner Din Djarin,” Bo-Katan murmurs next to him, reaching up towards him. It’s a problem both he and Bo-Katan share. “Come to me, back to sleep, love.”
It takes one heady intake of breath to steady himself as tenderness and affection nearly bursts from his heart; to be wanted, and truly loved. He slides down, onto the mattress, back between the sheets, into her waiting arms.