Convincing Din to get a radio is the smartest thing you've done so far.

After spying the huge hunk of metal and wires sitting out in front of a parts shop, you weren't even sure what it was. But the owner knew that it had caught your eye, and explained that it was a radio transmitter made for old-time ships. He couldn't sell it, and had set it out on the street to let scrappers take it away the next morning. It seemed like the perfect coincidence. You asked if he'd be willing to give it to you instead. He agreed, and the only thing it cost you was a few credits to borrow a speeder, to cart it out to the Crest.

Din lowers the ramp, watching you bump up and down the hilly terrain. His arms cross as he leans against the metal frame, and he shakes his head. You weren't the best pilot for even the smallest of vehicles - you fixed them, you didn't drive them. It felt like a sure thing that he was laughing at you as you came to a screeching halt, six feet past where you'd tried to park.

"Shut up," you call out, swinging a leg out of the speeder.

His shoulders are shaking with chuckles you can't hear. "I didn't say a thing."

You get to work unhooking the ties, noting the color of the wires and the type of buttons in more detail. Yes, it's made for an old ship; even older than the Crest. But with a lot of work and a little luck, it might be compatible.

"What'd you drag in, pet?" Din saunters up beside you, hands clasped behind his back.

Your beroya has been in a particularly good mood the past week, and it's contagious. Maybe it's because the past few jobs have gone so well. He almost waltzes through them - you're rarely without him for more than a day or two. You and Grem are more than appreciative to have him back so quickly. The Razor Crest dances from planet to planet like she never stopped moving in the first place.

And… the mood between you feels like things are about to boil over into something more. Even now, outside the ship where anyone could see, the tension is high.

He's brought his hands out from behind his back, placed them on each of your hips. Each gets the lightest squeeze. He's standing right behind you; so close that his chestplate brushes your shoulder blades. You shiver, despite the temperate climate. He loves to disable you like this. Make it impossible for you to remember what you were thinking. You love to let him.

"Radio," you stammer out, red. "Parts shop gave it away. Wanted to -" his hands ghost higher, tracing the bottom of your breasts through the tunic - "see if it'd - work in the. The thing."

"'The thing?'" He's smiling, you can tell even through the helmet's modulator.

You let out a frustrated huff. "Din."

"That's almost the way I like hearing you say my name." With his hands still halfway to your tits in the middle of an open field, he presses himself into your ass. He's hard for you, and all you're doing is standing here. "Tell me more, petal."

Your head is swimming. There might as well not even be a radio in front of you anymore - or a speeder, for that matter. There's too much sensation for you to focus on to care about what you're seeing. But because you know he likes this, you try to tell him.

"Um," you begin, taking in a shaky breath as he grinds into you. "This was mass produced about t-twenty-five years ago."

"Seems right." He's trying to keep his own tone even, but you can hear how hard he's breathing through his nose. One of his hands reaches higher, circling your nipple with a gentle squeeze. You whine, pushing back into his body at the feeling. The other goes lower, tracing circles on your stomach. "What else?"

Shit. What else. What else? You can barely hang onto your name.

"It…" You're struggling now. Din's cock is completely solid, and he's thrusting shallowly against your ass. His huff of breath comes near your ear every time, dotted with needy little noises that are making you soak your panties. "It...plays music if you install it."

He laughs a little, and you don't blame him. Your brain cells all jumped ship several minutes ago. The hand on your stomach runs lower, lower, lifting the hem of your tunic.

"Is that - all?" Din's own voice is shaking apart in your ear, though he's still trying to tease you. He's moving your underwear to the side, sliding gloved fingers over your soaking slit.

"Yes," you cry out, not referring to his question in the slightest.

"Oh fuck Miona -" Din takes his hand off your tit and places it back on your hip, anchoring himself to thrust into you harder. At the same time, he forces two fingers inside you, and you can't help the sound you make. "You're fucking soaked - God, I want to - I want -"

You'd love to take this opportunity to tease him now, but the only thing you can think is cock and finger me harder and yeeeeeessss.

"Want to what?" You gasp out.

Breathing hard, Din walks you two steps forward so that your legs cut into the side of the speeder. Angling himself so that your body has to follow, he bends, and you bend with him. Your palms splay on the speeder's flat end, your ass arched out for him.

"Want to take you like this," he growls in your ear.

Every fiber of you is screaming Do it! Fuck me!

Balancing one hand on the radio, you're shimmying your underwear to your knees when you hear it. Something in the tall grass, only feet away. You freeze under Din's wandering hands. He hears it too - with a curse, he's pulling away, turning toward the sound. Your panties are still around your ankles, and you rush to pull them back where they belong.

"Dank farrik," he mutters again, one hand on his blaster. "Stay here."

Despite the potential of danger, you can't help but admire the outline of his engorged dick through his pants as he circles the speeder. You hear a click as he activates a different function on the side of his helmet. After a few seconds of scanning, he lets out a long sigh. Din wades into the grass, and bends down to examine something that you can't see.

"You're not gonna believe who slipped past us."

"Tell me you're kidding." Yes, he'd left the Crest's ramp open, but when you'd spoken over the comm, Grem had been fast asleep.

"Nope." Din turns back to you, holding the wriggling baby at arm's length. "You're going to have to try harder than that if you're making a break for it, kid."

Grem lets you both know how angry he is about being caught by punctuating the air with his little fists, letting out a whine as he does.

"Back inside," Din tells him, tucking the baby under his arm. To you, he adds, "be back in a minute to help you unload that thing.".

Still half dazed, all you can do is watch as he walks away. You almost don't remember the work ahead of you that the radio will bring. Every muscle is still pining for what's now been majorly delayed, due to Grem being awake. Might as well forget about it.

With a long sigh, you pick up where you left off, untying your found treasure.

"Son of a -" As you watch, your flashlight falls into the hole you've cut in the control panel, forever becoming a part of the Crest's belly. Taking a deep breath, you turn your head and scream into the worn material of the pilot's seat.

Fuck. This. Your knees and back ache from being crouched for so long. Lifting the heft of the radio over and over, then crawling behind it to connect wires, has left you exhausted. Worst of all, there's yet to be one sign of life from it.

Din and Grem are downstairs having dinner. He'd asked if you wanted to join them, to take a break, but you'd refused. Some stupid, stubborn part of you wanted to defeat this. To finish before the day ended. But the cycle is waning - the cockpit's huge window gives you an almost accusatory view of the setting suns.

Sweaty and annoyed, you set your blowtorch down. Defeat at the hands of a worn-out radio wasn't how you wanted to end your day, but that's how it's going to be.

Half of your trouble might be that your mind keeps wandering. Any time that Grem falls quiet from the lower deck, it gives you the perfect opportunity to daydream. A part of you is still out in that field, bent over the speeder. Waiting for Din to lift your skirt and sink into you. You've held that cock in your hand - stars, how good it would feel to finally have it stretching your walls?

It's been four months since you boarded the Crest. Though you and Din have been intimate in almost every other way, he's yet to initiate making love to you. You're not sure why he's holding back - you're positive he knows what he's doing in that particular field. Still, it's not like you felt pressured to jump into it. You could have always made the move, had you not felt your needs were being fulfilled. The heated moments you've shared up until now have all been satisfying, more than enough to sate you. Until today, you think, biting your lip.

Maker, his confession of wanting to take you is ringing in your ears. Functioning had been easy before he'd gone and put that idea in your head.

"Okay up there?" Din's near the base of the ladder, talking to you.

"Yeah," you sigh, still half holding on to those thoughts. "I'm going to get some food and come down, okay?"

"Alright."

Standing up with creaking knees, you cast one last glower at the old radio. At least if you couldn't get it to work, you can have the satisfaction of dropping it from the bottom of the Crest and watching it shatter.

"Hey there," Din says, once you shimmy down the ladder with your dinner. He's sitting cross-legged in the hallway, watching Grem gnaw on the end of a fork.

"He'll chew right through that thing," You warn, settling down beside them. It isn't a gesture of maternal worry; you've seen him bite through one. Then you'd had to stick your fingers in his mouth to fish out the rest of it.

"It's steel," he says, sounding horrified. He takes the thing out of Grem's mouth, met with a pouting look.

"He's a magic baby." You shrug, scooting Grem into your lap to avoid any whining from said baby. "Hey, kiddo. What've you and Dad been doing down here?" The warmth of Din's body through his flight suit isn't doing anything to calm the storm of thoughts raging in your head.

"Listening to you swear at your project," he teases. "think we both learned some new ones."

Your ears burn hotter than the mouthful of soup you just swallowed. "I did not -"

Well, you had. A lot. But you were certain that it had all been under your breath.

"What was that one we heard a few hours ago, bud?" Din places his palm on the chin of his helmet as if in thought, turning to Grem. "Had something to do with a bantha and a Jawa getting a little too friendly."

You cover your face and let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, sinking onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's been such a pain in the -" you catch yourself, remembering Grem, "- it's been frustrating."

"Want to know something?"

"What?" You're feeding Grem the fruit that you brought for yourself, a sucker for a pair of big brown eyes.

"It's cute when you're frustrated."

As if you weren't blushing enough. You can't look at him, not used to such a direct compliment. Usually he's all about soft touches, being connected somehow. It could be the simplest of things; his hand in yours, or your legs touching as you ate, as they do now. Words aren't a part of the equation, unless you're being intimate. To have him say something like that to you out of nowhere is such a surprise. It feels like you've been knocked on your ass.

Unsure of how to answer, you grumble a vague protest. Stars, your face is burning. Your knees come up to your chest, shielding against any more unexpected kindness.

Din chuckles at your whole display. One large hand plants on your knee, fingers flexing. "You don't like it when I call you cute?"

His voice is light, not accusatory by any means. One might even say he was flirting. Dank farrik, Din Djarin. You didn't know how much more of this your heart could handle.

Not entertained by this, Grem wriggles free of your grasp. Deciding that you're not interesting anymore, he toddles down the hall, cooing to himself. As you watch, he becomes interested in trying to jump high enough to reach the button that will open the ramp.

"I just - didn't expect it," you breathe. Din notices that the kid's occupied himself, too, and has taken this opportunity of distraction to place himself right in front of you.

"Maybe I should say it more often, then." His face is inches from yours, and Maker, you wish you could see it.

"If - if you want." Stars. He's just looking at you, so close, like he needs to memorize every detail. You can't get a proper breath like this.

"Will you hide?" He's smiling, you know it, and your heart is swelling for this soft man with the hard shell.

You shake your head, a little anxious to hear what's going to come out of his mouth.

He sighs and settles back, crossing his legs. One of his hands taps fingers on his knee, as if he's considering what to say. You see yourself in the reflection of his helmet; grease smears on your clothes, your expression apprehensive. A hot mess, your default setting.

"I like the face you make when you think," he says finally. "Your mouth goes to the side, and your nose scrunches. And - I like how much the kid likes you. I like that you sing in the shower, but only in a language I don't understand. Your voice is nice."

Oh shit. You didn't know he could hear you in there, for one thing. You tilt your face away, overwhelmed with all this, but Din gently raises your face back to his with a hand. "Hey. You said no hiding."

He keeps going.

"I like these." His fingers trace over the myriad of freckles that dot your body. "Even if you don't. I like your breasts, your hips, your - okay, all of it." Din laughs once, an almost sheepish sound. "You're - you're lovely, sarad." There's a tenderness in his voice that's causing your own throat to tighten, and you fight to choke it down.

There's not a word you can think of to say - all wit has left you. Thank you seems too small a phrase after the massive self-esteem boost he's seen fit to give you.

"Din," you manage, "I - you - really think that?"

The visor looks right at you, tilted a little. "I wouldn't lie to you."

That was that, then. You'd given your heart over completely to this Mandalorian. Any doubt about what he thought of you had just… floated off. He thought of you as more than useful to have around for Grem. More than a partner there to scratch an itch he happened to have that day. Here was the proof that you couldn't deny; Din liked you. More earnestly and openly than anyone ever had. It was terrifying.

So ironic that all anyone else ever saw was the cold glint of beskar, the masterful way he handled a weapon. Inside the Crest, he was so much more. A selfish part of you enjoyed that you and Grem were the only ones who knew him. Why share, anyway? Your world, your clan, is a small one. Easier to protect, you think with a sudden fierceness. If anything happened to either one of them, you'd be completely lost. Din always talks about how smart and special his child is, but he doesn't know that you've come to feel the same way about him. You're not skilled in any sort of weaponry - that much is clear. But if anyone were to come for your evaar'la aliit, you would tear them apart with your bare hands.

"Hey. Miona."

Din's voice comes to you as if from miles away, though he's sitting right in front of you. You blink, bringing him back into focus.

"There's the look." Again, affection creeps into his familiar baritone.

"What look?" At last, you get the nerve to make eye contact - helmet contact - again.

"The cute one."

Shit.

The ship is quiet when Din knocks on your door. You tucked Grem away in his crib pod an hour or so ago. Din had gone to plug in new coordinates after seeing that his ad'ika was sleeping, but the way his hands lingered on you promised that he'd be back. Anticipation flutters in your stomach like a swarm of flitnats as the hatch opens, revealing the man whose words - both lustful and sweet - have been consuming you all day.

There's not a piece of armor on him, save the helmet. A slight clunk outside the door tells you that he's left it there in a neat pile, should he need to don it again in a hurry. His cloak and ammo must be out there as well.

"Hi," he greets, ducking to slide into your small space. He's not wearing boots, either - to your amusement, his socks are mismatched and brightly colored.

"Hey," you smile, shifting forward on the cot to squeeze one of his feet. "Nice look."

"Life Day gift," he says, and you can't tell whether he's joking or not.

You snort. "I think you just like flashy socks." He opens his arms, and it's instinct now to fold yourself into them. He smells like cedarwood soap and leather, so familiar that you're sure you could pick the scent out of a crowd.

"Not denying it," he murmurs. He tucks your body under his chin, pulling you close.

Gods, it feels so right. So normal to be here. Years of no contact with anyone, and now every day he finds a way to touch you in a way that makes you feel both fragile and strong. A hand cards through your hair, pulling the elastic loose with one expert twist. You could fall asleep to the feeling of him running his fingers over your hair and scalp, slow and methodical. Right now your mind is too awake with possibilities. Still, you can't stop the happy mmm that escapes your lips as he uses the handful of hair to tilt your neck.

"That. I like that, too." His voice is quiet, low from the modulator. Still working on his list, it seems. As if the conversation hadn't stopped hours ago.

You compel yourself not to blush and avoid him like you had earlier, right outside this room. You are an adult. You can have these conversations. Even if it makes your insides feel like they're being mixed around with a boiling hot poker.

"Why so nice to me all of a sudden?" You keep your tone playful, burrowing deeper into him.

It was a joke, but he considers it like you'd asked him in deadly seriousness. It's quiet for what feels like minutes. The two of you breathe through the empty space, hearing the Crest whoosh and chug around you. As you're about to tell him not to worry about it, you get the answer.

"I'm not...great with words. I'm trying to be better." It's a simple reply, so fitting for him.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, you're making me say more words." He bops you on the top of the head with the helmet, and it occurs to you that he might be as bad at this feelings thing as you are. Partners had told you in the past, had even left you for it. It was something that stung, but never enough to hurt for long. You brushed it off, kept moving. Now you know what they meant. You were bad at it. You're realizing that Din makes you want to be better.

He continues, unaware of your revelation. "It occurred to me that I value you far more than I let you know. So... I want to tell you more often." Maker, he got right to the point of it. There were no frills to the way he told you that you mean something to him, so why does it make you light up? "If that's okay. You seem to be allergic to compliments."

"Pfft. I have - an intolerance, okay?" He has to be rolling his eyes at you. You wriggle out of his grasp, turning so that your head rests in his lap. Din rests his hands on your chest, shifting to place you firmly against the vee of his legs. "You said words were hard for you. Hearing them can be hard for me."

Din nods, as if that's perfectly understandable. Thank Kriff he doesn't ask you to explain, because you don't really have a reason. His trust is more than worth its weight in credits in moments like this.

"Speaking of." You change your mind, reach up and touch the curve of his throat, feeling flesh and metal collide at the bottom of his helmet. His heartbeat is fluttering under your fingertips. "I'm… sorry that I froze up earlier."

"It's fine, sarad." He leans into your palm, and you feel the warmth of his sigh. "Like you said. Compliment intolerance."

"But I wanted to tell you things. I have my own list, you know," you say. You let your fingertips move up and down his throat, teasing near his collarbone. His neck is so sensitive, and you can feel through his trousers how even the lightest of touches affects him.

"Alright," he swallows, breath quickening as you replace fingertips with your mouth.

Where to begin? So many things you'd like to tell him; a few that might be going too far for where your relationship currently stands. Between kisses, you place your own list of endearments to his skin.

"I like that you're a great father to Grem. That kid fucking adores you. I like your sense of humor. If you weren't funny, I probably would have thrown myself out of the air lock by now." He laughs against you at that, genuine and unabashed.

"I like that about you, too."

"I like…" you pause to think, breathing against his shoulder. You tug the material of his shirt down, but he does you one better - with a quick movement, he's wriggling out it. He holds you close, bare chested, and it's getting harder to think. There's so much golden skin here to stare at, captivating you every time. He wears each scar like a piece of art. "I like this. Um. And your shoulders. Your skin. Your hair."

"You've never seen my hair," he protests shakily, tugging at your own top. Willingly, you still, letting him pull it up and over your head. Just like that, you're sitting there in only your panties, and he in trousers. You have a feeling they won't be around much longer. His naked skin is so warm, a contrast to the cool air of the Crest, and you let him hold your body tight against his as you struggle to think of more things to say. Stars, you have a novella of things to tell him - but the sound of him panting in your ear erases rational thought.

"That doesn't mean I can't like it," you argue. "It's - soft. I like... how easy you make things look, even though I know you're just good at everything. I like how you protect us. I like the things you say...when we're doing things like this."

"Petal." The word is a huff of breath through the modulator, tight and restricted.

"Hmm?" You grind against his crotch, let your wetness tease him through your panties. Keeping your eyes on where you know his are through the blackness of the visor, you work the snaps of his pants open. His solid length is begging to be touched - you pull it up and out of his underwear.

"I meant - I meant what I said earlier. About wanting to take you." His cock jerks upward, as if in agreement. "Is that - do you want -?"

"Kriff, Din, yes," you groan, grinding against his leg. You'd only been wanting it every hour, every second, since he'd said it to you. "You think there's a scenario where I wouldn't want to fuck you? Take off your pants -"

Breathless, he lifts his hips to do as you asked. You take the opportunity to rid yourself of your last piece of clothing, and within seconds you're back on top of him. A trail of pre-come dribbles down the head of his cock, just inches from your entrance. He's so thick. Din leans back, fully stretched out on your cramped little cot now. The top of his helmet scrapes the door. You're about to lower yourself onto him when he puts a hand on your hip, forcing you to pause.

"Do you have something? Protection?" His grip is tighter than you're used to. It feels like he's holding back, for your sake. You appreciate the thought. The last thing either of you need is one more ad'ika running around, had you been unprepared.

You point to the tiny chip sitting under the skin of your right bicep. "Implant. First thing I did on Coruscant."

Din chuckles, an airless sound as he shifts under you. "You have no clue how glad I am to hear that."

And finally, after what feels like years of waiting for it, you sink down onto the head of his cock. Din responds with a shuddering gasp, leaning into you as far as his hips will take him. You stay there, letting it sit between your folds.

"How do you want it?" you purr, running hands down his sides.

"Don't - don't tease me, sarad. Just move." He sounds wrecked already - and his grip on your thighs says that he's not in the mood for games. Seeing him powerless underneath you is doing something to your head. To have someone so powerful begging for you to fuck them is going straight to your ego.

So you give him what he wants; slowly. Dear Maker, you have to stretch to take him. You breathe through it, the pleasure-pain of being so full after years of nothing but fingers and tongue. You whimper, clenching around the length of him just as Din utters his own broken sound of bliss.

"Okay?" His hand finds yours, the gesture so familiar in all of this newness.

In answer, you lift off of him, almost letting him slide out, then sink back down in one long, delicious push.

"O-ohh, sarad," he sighs, helmet tilted back. "You feel so good."

You moan in response, too strung out for words. Your pussy is starting to adjust to him, and you shift your hips lower, taking more of him until you bottom out.

"Fuck," Din hisses, digging nails into your skin. His breath is a staccato rhythm from the modulator, his whole body tense with the effort of not thrusting up into you just yet, to let you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "Miona. Fuck me. Please, it's been - fucking ages -"

A switch flips in your brain when you hear him utter the words fuck me so shamelessly. And he asked so nicely, how could you make him wait any longer? You snap your hips into his, keeping a slow, deep rhythm. You swear you can feel every ridge and vein that his dick has to offer rubbing against your walls.

"Miona," his voice is low and throaty, saying your name like a spell or a prayer. He's trying so hard to meet your hips, to get more friction. His little gasps of effort are going straight to your core. Without even meaning to, you start giving him what he wants - a little faster, a little harder. Your body instinctively wants to please him.

"Want to kiss you," you tell him, biting your lip. Seeing him is nice, but feeling his mouth on yours, being able to touch his face, is better.

"Do you have the -?"

But you're already pulling the new silk blindfold from under your pillow, tying it over your eyes. In seconds, he has his helmet off, and you reach for him.

When his lips touch yours, he makes a sound like a starving man who's bitten into a piece of meat. It never ceases to surprise you, how warm and real he is under the helmet, how good he tastes. He plants a hand on each of your shoulders and pushes you down into the cot, rising up like the ocean to top you.

"My turn," he whispers. You feel his lips on your neck, his body framing yours. "Does that please you?"

You nod frantically, seeking out his mouth with yours. "You please me, cyar'ika. Anything you want."

Din pauses a moment, perhaps to ask about the new word. He settles instead for circling his thumb around your clit, pumping inside you at an increasing pace. The combination sends licks of fire down your thighs, and you whine at the overwhelming feeling.

"You like that, pet?" Din huffs against your mouth, drinking up any needy sounds that escape you. He's working your clit fast and hard, overloading you on sensitivity. Any other time he's touched you has been relatively drawn out, but it seems that his own pleasure is skewing things.

"Yes. Din," you stammer, arching off of the cot to get closer to what his fingers are doing to you. He's thrusting into you with a steady slap slap slap rhythm now, moaning your name between bites on your neck.

"Miona. Fuck - you're so - so tight. I -" His breath hitches, and you feel him press deep into your core. "I want you to come - around my cock. Can you do that? Will you do that for me?"

You nod, whimpering as your climax makes itself known deep at the bottom of your stomach. "I'm close. I'm - any minute now -"

Your body must think minute means second, because as his mouth sucks over your nipple you come, hard and fast and dizzy. "Din - oh, Din, fuck yes, I'm coming, yes -!" Just when you think it's stopped, another wave is coaxed out of you - Din never stops touching you during an orgasm until you bat his hand away.

Your foggy brain notices that something is different - he's gone completely still inside you, breathing heavily.

"Why'd...you stop?" You slur when your mouth remembers how to open.

"Was about to - to come inside you," he says, touching his sweat-slicked forehead to your own. "Do you want -?"

"Absofuckinglutely I want. Din Djarin, come inside me right now," you demand, hazy with lust and the disbelief that someone would actually fucking ask before spilling their seed inside your cunt.

"Yes, ma'am," he growls, pushing himself up onto all fours and ramming into your soaking slit. The sound you make is somewhere between utter bliss and complete surprise - a squeak and a moan.

"Oh fuck yes," you blurt out, arching into him. "Din. Like that." He pounds into your oversensitive orifice like it's an order he's hell bent on fulfilling - his body a machine.

"Yeah?" he practically purrs. You've never heard him like this. Every intimate encounter has been so gentle until now, you weren't even sure he knew how to be this rough. "You like it when I pound you, sarad?"

"Yes -"

"Like it w-when I - fuck you so hard you - forget your name?"

"Din, fuck, yes -" A second orgasm is about to rip through you, building on the sensitivity of the first. You hyperventilate under him, meeting every thrust with one of your own.

"God, I'm going to - to come so deep inside you," his voice is going high and ragged, a dead giveaway that he's right on the brink of his own release. "Want to feel you - squeeze every drop out of me -"

You come for a second time, letting out a too-loud sound that you barely manage to muffle in the curve of his shoulder. Four thrusts later and Din follows, and stars, he fucking howls.

"Fuck! Fuck, that's incredible - Miona - oh, oh, God, Miona, yes, fuck yes -"

You'd never thought that that sound would come out of this man; a long cry of pleasure as his come fills you and fills you in warm spurts. It seems to be going on for hours - his fingers are pressing hard enough into you to bruise.

When he finally relaxes, a kiss brushes over your mouth, far gentler than anything that just occurred. The hairs of his mustache tickle your lip and you flinch away, grinning. You can feel his come trickling out of you, warm and wet on your thighs, but both of you are too tired to move to the washroom.

"Din?"

"Hmm?" He sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

"I liked that."

He only sighs through his nose, content to sit inside you for a moment longer.

There's an unfamiliar sound buzzing on the edge of your consciousness. Someone's saying something - it's not Din's low, husky tone. Nor is it Grem's high, nonsensical babble. You stir closer to the edge of waking as your brain tells you that this voice sounds like it's coming from far away, almost as if… As if -

"Coming to you live from the Bardotta System! I'm Shups Iawz, and you're listening to JFDF Radio! Where we play all the hits, and none of the holo-commercials."

Oh shit. Shit! You sit up straight in your nest of blankets, wide awake. The radio. The sound of the fuzzy broadcast is carrying down from the cockpit - and you have to see the thing installed to believe it. Blinking sleep bleariness away, you climb up. Soreness radiates from your core as you go, a pleasant ache that reminds you of exactly what you were doing just hours before.

Sure enough, the radio sits in the control panel, as if it had been there all along. Din did a fine job welding it in - the seam isn't noticeable if you aren't looking for it. Grem is balancing on his buir's knee in front of the thing, busy turning knobs and dials. Stations flit in and out, and you get seconds-long snippets of love ballads, operas, talk shows, pop hits. As usual, he seems to be turning knobs just for the sake of creating chaos.

"How in the galaxy did you get that piece of junk to work?" you marvel, running a hand over the eagerly functioning display.

He shrugs, bouncing the kid in his lap. "I had some motivation from an employee."

"Employee? Someone thinks they're funny this morning." You walk past him with your nose in the air, pretending to be offended. "Has this one had breakfast?" Grem is still too busy playing with the radio to notice you, and dodges your attempt to pat him on the head.

"Yep. In between staring at his new favorite thing."

It's hard to keep the fond smile off your face, watching the little guy so fascinated. Even if hearing two-second snippets of different channels cut off over and over again is already driving you crazy.

"Alright." That's one thing marked off of today's mental checklist. "What's the plan for this week, captain?" His helmet turns to you sharply, and you can almost see the eye roll. He doesn't like captain. Or sir, or your majesty. Just Din.

"I was thinking." Din's fingers drum on one of his thigh plates. "Might be nice to...take it easy for a few days."

"Really?" You perk up. The way you all live on the Crest has become routine, but you definitely won't say no to a little change. "You mean...park for a few days? On some nice, green planet?"

He nods, fingers still tapping away. "It's been bounties nonstop since you came aboard. I'm used to it. But the kid...well. You remember what happened on Garel."

Vividly, you think.

"He must be bored," Din continues. "I can't take him anywhere populated. But I want to get him out of the ship for a few days; let him breathe some real air." He plops a gloved hand on Grem's head, and the kid finally turns to acknowledge something other than his new toy. These two are almost too cute sometimes.

"That'd be great for him," you agree. "What did you have in mind?"

Tapping a few buttons on the control panel, he brings up the holo-map and shows you. Leaning in close, with the man you lo - like on one side and his little one on the other, you feel as if nothing in the galaxy could take away from how whole you feel.

You close your eyes, and listen to the music.

BIG LONG CHAPTER, oh my gosh. This one really took it out of me. In which Miona has communication issues, but gets some sweet dick. Let me know what you thought!

Stay safe and stay well, guys.

Love,

WickedScribbles.

Mando'a - mandowords dot tumblr dot com

beroya - bounty hunter

evaar'la - new, young

aliit - family, clan

sarad - flower, bloom

ad'ika - little one, son, daughter

cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart

buir - father, mother