Author's Note: Sort of works as a sequel to death is a girl. TL;DR: Din is the ruler of Mandalore now. As mentioned, I really really like writing royal smut.
Mandalorian weddings tend to be quiet affairs.
If he's slightly fairer – which Din supposes he'll have to be, considering that the clan he'd grown up in had, apparently, been exceptionally guarded when compared to the rest of them – he might have amended that to reserved. Not necessarily quiet, as celebration isn't discouraged, especially when the newlyweds are in the sort of important position that he happens to hold for the time being, but reserved? Definitely. There are the vows and the witnesses and the legitimisation of the marriage and little more after that, save for a quick gathering of the clan and the couple's immediate families, if present, before everyone takes their leave.
His own wedding is nothing like this, predictably. Few of the things his newly acquired wife does are reserved and approximately none of them are quiet, save for the times she sneaks behind an enemy, and he hadn't expected her to become either of those things for his people. She is who she is, and who she is is fierce and brave and loyal to a fault, and so full of life that she sometimes takes his breath away.
Cara. Even now, hours after the ceremony had officially begun, she doesn't seem to be anywhere near the end of her strength, still being spun in winding circles as yet another one of her dancing partners. It's yet another dignitary, no doubt, as apparently she had been taught the skill of making political alliances casually at the same nebulous place where she had learnt everything else about life in court, and she charms them with the sort of ease that she usually applies in a fight.
Not that this isn't a fight of its own, of course, Din thinks as he shifts in his place again, impatient to leave the throne room behind and retire for the night. Bo-Katan had been less than charmed to hear the news, regardless of his insistence that it would have no effect on the transition of Mandalore directly into her hands – that it had been purely a personal decision and it would win his bride-to-be quite a few points in the eyes of her superiors would she make what had, in their eyes, looked like yet another contact to a newly re-established part of the Galaxy they hadn't fully explored yet. Cara is, after all, a good Marshall, he'd reasoned, and why shouldn't they use the opportunity to legalise something that they'd both been thinking of for a while?
His fellow Mandalorian had conceded his point then. She'd even decided to be present for the wedding, after they'd all agreed that it might help them establish a convincing enough struggle for power later on, and it's only now that Din is starting to regret the decision to invite her. It's not that anything has managed to go south just yet, but that a detail that he should have seen coming had slipped from his attention and definitely hadn't escaped Bo-Katan's analytical mind – Cara is a good Marshall, but she's an even better Queen.
It's just as he'd got caught up in yet another spiel of doubt in their immediate future that the queen in question had strode back up to their place in the middle of the table, dropping down in her chair so abruptly that she startles him right out of his reverie. When he turns to look at her, Cara takes his breath away – it's been hours since they'd said their vows and had committed to the extravaganza that had followed, but she's still radiant, the dark rim of kohl around her eyes only glimmering brighter than it had earlier, her smile as wide as he'd ever seen it, breath still short from the back to back hands-on entertainment she'd been so keen to provide. Delegates from different worlds all seem to have vastly different ideas of what constitutes dancing and she'd obliged everything she'd had the physical appendages for, only stopping when he'd caught her eye and she had, as always, caught on without him saying a word. He'd done his own fair share of dancing when needed to, but eventually, he'd tired of it and had relegated himself to waiting for the whole ordeal to be over. It would be a tedious process, he'd reckoned, but much better with her at his side.
"How are you holding up?" She asks now, playing with her fork as she beams back at him, not really in need of an answer – she can read him, helmet and all, like an open book. All he gets in return of his sigh is a grin. "Maybe you should chase them all out in a display of power or something. Kings do that, I've heard."
Her innocent facade is not something he can afford to indulge – well, not yet, in any case – and Din glares back, certain that the message of his attempt at menacing silence had been received. Still, he can't possibly stop himself from teasing back, just a little. "Oh? What else do kings traditionally do?"
Cara rises to the bait as eagerly as ever. "Well. I'm not as proficient in Mandalorian rituals as I should be by now." She turns in her seat, the rustle of fabric that follows only making him stand further on edge as she leans closer into his space. Her gown is simple yet strangely overcrowded, flowers adorning every bit of space on the corset while the enormous skirt flutters around her like a sea of white, layers whispering over layers with every move. "You tell me."
Oh, no. He knows where this is going; knows the dangerous gleam in her eyes and the trouble it spells. He can feel her hand rest over his knee right before it starts snaking upwards, tantalisingly warm once she reaches the end of the beskar. They are not doing this here.
Except apparently, they are. His own traitorous mouth overrides that command embarrassingly quickly. "Now you want me to be kingly."
"Well, appearances must be kept, right?" Cara justifies, though whether it's coming from his lips or hers, it sounds less and less honest as far as arguments go. "So that you're convincingly dethroned when it happens and all that."
"Right," he drawls out, hand closing over hers where it's idly rubbing up and down his thigh, not enough to discourage her, but just enough to work her up further. She doesn't need much encouragement – Cara's already dark eyes are like black holes by now, the hunger in them more evident than ever, her breathing deeper and quicker than before. He resolutely does not look down, but his gaze slides helplessly over her heaving chest anyway, trying not to linger on the way the corset pushes everything upwards in what is definitely a carefully calculated move on her part.
"Cara." It's a warning and a caress all in one and Din senses it as soon as it's out of his mouth – her grip on his thigh grows firmer in acknowledgment and she shoots him another inviting glance. Unbelievable, he would say, except it really isn't – not when it's her and when, not quite secretly, he wants nothing more than to indulge her. "This is not the place—"
"No?" She sounds so innocent; if it were anyone else, he might have even believed it. "I remember you saying something else the other day."
It certainly hadn't been the other day, but he certainly hadn't forgotten about it either. I thought of you in that throne and all I wanted— Every time, every time he'd seen her in proximity to said throne since then – an increasingly frequent occurrence these days – he'd think about it again; about the longing in her voice, the heady desire in every word as she'd confided in him. He'd think of all the nights since then and how it had all led up to them here, now, in a position neither of them had ever imagined. It's a game for her and it's starting to be one for him, too, dangerously enough; one that he can't help but want to take part in.
"Oh?" He echoes back at her, fully aware that he's only giving her that much more ammunition but unable to resist the bait. He glances back towards the throne looming behind them before crowding her against her seat in turn. It's time for her to feel some of the heat, too. "What is this the place for, then?"
He regrets it immediately, but it's too late – her delighted grin is all the answer he gets before Cara presses her forehead against his in a fleeting moment of tenderness before turning to the side, her lips ghosting over the helmet's edge, so close that he can hear her unfiltered voice, raw over his ears. It's electrifying, and somehow even more intimate than the times when they're alone and she can kiss him outright. Not that this stops her; Din is acutely aware of the hundreds of pairs of eyes flittering over them as they have been all evening. This is his throne room and the two of them are its centrepiece just now, but he's at her mercy and the knowledge does nothing but add to the high that her presence is.
"Do you remember what I told you back then?" He nods; doesn't need to ask – her frenzied wishes are etched well into his memory. "I'd visited before, but I'd never seen you on the throne until then."
"Is that so?" It comes out breathier than he'd anticipated and Cara almost purrs from where her mouth is pressed against his neck once his own hands starts wandering, one settling on the silky skin of her lower back and the other pushing the heavy layers of her skirt aside to get at her leg where she'd deftly wrapped it around his calf to bring herself closer. Even wrapped in what feels like miles of fabric, she can bring him to his knees, should she want to, with the same ease she does it with to everyone else. The fact that he's the only one she'd ever allow to return the favour is enough to make him lightheaded.
"Mmm." She presses into his touch eagerly, effectively wrapping them further in one another's hold while she's at it, and suddenly the beskar he's wrapped in from head to toe starts to feel like nothing but a hindrance. He wants what she's giving him skin-to-skin; knows what it's like well enough to be greedy for it even when his temporary chastity is self-imposed. Their current position would be pushing several different boundaries even in a world far more open than the one he's ruling over, let alone what it must look like through the eyes of Mandalorian society, but suddenly, he doesn't care. If he had wanted this to be quiet and easy, he wouldn't have ended up with the bride he has, he supposes. "You don't know what it did to me, Din." He shakes his head wordlessly and Cara's lips curl into a wicked smirk, her hand on his thigh crawling ever upwards. He paws at her back in response, hand flexing and relaxing, aimless in its frustration. "Or maybe you do? Now that would be a story. Do you know what I was thinking of? If it had been up to me, I would have kept you there all night." She chances a look up at him and clearly finds him sufficiently affected for her latest attack on his restraint. It's an excellent assessment – he's so hard that even the idea of trying to stand up to chase all their guests away is mortifying, but he's awfully close to doing just that anyway. And she knows, damn her, she has to; the little self-deprecating laugh that follows is anything but. "Well. It's traditional to take a knee, isn't it? What I really wanted was—"
"Your Majesties?"
Din has barely had the time to turn and face his advisor by the time Cara is out of his arms and back into her seat, the smoky heat in her eyes replaced by her usual cool demeanour, collected and proper enough to almost give him whiplash. It's just as well – she's the one who carries the conversation, whatever it is about, and Din's ears are still ringing with a heap of promises she couldn't hope to fulfil before he's managed to get rid of all of those people.
It's about time, too. This wedding had taken the better part of a day so far, and if there's one Mandalorian tradition Din would like to keep at this point, it's to keep it short and to the point. By now, he's got just the incentive for it.
~.~
"Fuck." The word has slipped past Cara's lips about ten times in the five minutes since they'd been left alone and as Din sinks gratefully into his throne once she pushes him back until the backs of his knees had hit the edge, he's afforded his first look at the fire in her eyes, finally unrestrained by her loose grasp of propriety. "Thank the Maker they're gone. This whole time—"
"Say it," he asks, breathless as she stalks closer, her gaze drinking him in as he pulls his helmet off and drops it to the side. "What did you want?" he needles further in an effort to remind her of the moment just before they'd been interrupted, undeterred by the eyebrow she'd raised in confusion. "When you saw me on the throne."
She does take a knee this time, the dress pooling around her until she fills his immediate field of vision entirely. "I wanted to suck your dick." He sees her roll her eyes right before his own fall shut and he leans back against the throne in question with a groan. She's already working on methodically stripping his beskar away by the time she speaks again, just as matter of fact as before. "Yeah, no shit, Din. I have an unbearable oral fixation." He lifts his hips enough for her to tug his breeches down and then her hands crawl up to his hips again, her touch scorching a path wherever it goes until he bucks into her touch and Cara clicks her tongue. "So impatient."
"You know it." This is a rare opportunity; getting to feel just her with nothing to separate them in-between and he lets himself relish it when her fingers close around his cock, just as impatient as he is, no matter how much she wants to tease before they get anywhere. He's already so hard that he's lightheaded, but Cara likes to draw things out the way no one he's met before does and he lets one of his own hands sneak into her hair, keeping her in place instead of tugging her up off the floor and into his arms as he would have liked to. "Cara, come on—"
His eyes shoot open again when he feels her tongue on him, trailing up from root to tip, slow and indulgent. Her breathing is shallow, flittering in bursts over his sensitive skin, and it's the only tell he's got about just how affected she is herself when the nonchalant drawl of her voice offers none. "What's the hurry? We've got all night." His knees open further when he feels her settle on the dais of his throne – their throne, really, and that thought is what makes it so thrilling – and the grip he has on the dark strands of her hair turns into a caress, grateful for the reminder. "And the night after that, and the one after that—"
Before he can offer some smart remark in response – something about how he wants her now, not in some undetermined point in the future, no matter how appealing that idea also is – he feels her lips wrap around him for the first time tonight, swallowing him until she can't take any more; until he feels the flutter of her gag reflex around his lengths. It's a heady feeling, and even more so when she starts moving, nails digging into his thigh for purchase when she can't possibly get any closer. When he looks down, her eyes are closed, but Din can see her free hand listlessly trying to push her dress out of the way so that she can touch herself too – a feat made much easier by her soldier's uniform than it is in a wedding gown.
"Cara," he rasps out, and it sounds like a benediction. She glances up at him through her thick lashes, question written all over her features, and he detangles his fingers from her hair to cup her cheek, his cock twitching when he realises he can feel himself almost thrusting into her mouth like this. "I need— Let me—" She hums, inquisitive but not particularly interested as she doubles her efforts, and it's all he can do not to come down her throat and put an end to this far sooner than he'd ever wanted to. "C'mere."
She pulls off of him, breath still short, wiping her face with the back of her hand as she shifts back to give him the space to move, should he want to. "What is it?"
Maker, she already sounds so fucked out, face flushed with want, that a part of him wants to drag her up into his lap and show her exactly what he has in mind. Not yet, though. Cara likes to play with her food too much for her own good, but fortunately, so does he.
"Get up," he says, a little startled when she follows orders without hesitation and he pulls his breeches up just enough to be able to stand, catching her by the arm and pushing her back onto the throne until she's the one seated on it, the dress draping over all the ridiculous ornaments supporting the chair he's had to spend a good chunk of his time on over the past few months. Before she'd had the chance to ask, he starts pushing the fabric out of the way, equally impressed and frustrated with how much of it there is. Cara laughs, low and pleased, when he pushes as much of it as he can hold into her hands, but holds it back anyway, her laughter quickly shifting into something suspiciously resembling a whine when his own fingers wrap around her ankle, tugging at the straps of her shoes where they wrap in a swirling pattern almost up to her knees, a startling white against her skin, silky and too fragile for him to linger on for too long.
He'd read up on quite a few wedding traditions in the time between their (necessarily broadcasted) engagement and the wedding itself, and had discovered things beyond his wildest imaginings, some of them so private and yet made public enough to make even the most open-minded Mandalorian blush. Ranked quite high among them had been a custom from some distant planet, populated mainly by humans, where the groom would tug his bride's garter – put on for this specific purpose – off with his teeth. There had been more to it, but this little detail had been the only one stuck in his mind as he'd watched the skirt of Cara's elaborate gown shift with her every step. She had either not known or chosen to spare him from what she'd doubtlessly thought would be an overly public display for a society like his, but, it seems, she'd spared no effort in providing an alternative for his eyes only, and Din feels the lace at the tops of her stockings scratching at the side of his face when he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder, the sharp spike that her heel makes scratching at his back when she wordlessly tries to bring him closer.
"Cara," he says again, movements almost frenzied as he disentangles from her just long enough to pull her underwear off and push two fingers inside her when she slouches in her seat, slipping down further into his touch. She's more than ready, just as he had known she would be – being with her is the easiest thing in the world. She's so sensitive, so responsive, and, despite his occasional doubts, loves him so much, that there are few things he could do to get any other reaction out of her. "I want—"
"I know." She sounds far too smug, just like usual, but it's more than justified – she does know. She always knows. He doesn't move for several moments more, enthralled by the picture she makes, drowning in a white sea of silk and satin and lace, her dark hair a sharp contrast to the way her pleasure almost makes her shine as she leans back decadently in his throne, eyes closed, full lips curled into a smile. "You've also told me a few things."
He had, of course; with time, he'd grown more and more confident about trusting her with the fantasies he'd hidden deeper than anyone could ever guess, especially in the heat of the moment, and Cara had been all too eager to indulge him in that, too. But never here; never until now. He'd rarely had the opportunity – or the excuse – to empty this hall as thoroughly as he had now.
I want to worship you, he'd said to her one night, with Cara wrapped in his arms, each thrust of his hips pushing her a bit higher up the bed as he'd chased his orgasm. Right there, so that everyone can see me on that throne and know that it's meant for you, too. So that, he'd hesitated, then, barely aware of how forbidden the idea that had entered his mind had been considering the agreement he'd made about the throne in question; barely aware of anything but her, so that they know you're meant to be their ruler.
It's a dangerous thought for more reasons than one. There's Bo-Katan and the promise he'd made, of course, but there are even more important things to consider, like Cara herself. She wouldn't be too charmed by the idea of being chained to his world forever and he knows it, no matter how easy it had all seemed so far. Sooner or later, she would swan back off into the Galaxy to do what she believes she's put in said Galaxy to do – be a soldier – and there's nothing he can do to stop her. There's only now, and there's only them, here, as present as they can be, and Din lets himself set up a steady pace, tilting his hand lower to tease at the spot that always makes her forget to be quiet while his lips wrap around her clit, taking her enough by surprise that she lets go of the dress in her hands to grab at him instead, a delighted groan slipping out in lieu of whatever it is that she'd meant to say.
"You're so sweet." His voice sounds strangely hoarse even to his own ears, but it isn't enough to deter him: after all the talking Cara had done during the reception, it's his turn. His tongue laves over her, staying as predictable as possible while his fingers keep a rhythm so irregular that it makes her clench her thighs around him on a gasp, her fingers on his shoulders turning almost painful in their grip. She always is sweet, really, but rarely as much as when she's kept on the very edge, and he can barely restrain himself from following her example and drawing this out for as long as he can. "I want—"
But she already knows, of course, and before he can do much about it, Din finds himself being roughly pulled up by the shoulders as Cara stumbles to her feet, dress falling back into place until she pushes him into a sitting position on the throne she'd just occupied and hikes it back up so that she can kneel over him, the kiss that follows leaving him breathless and awed in equal measure. The mechanics of the position are familiar – they must have done this hundreds of times by now – but it's the place that's so fascinatingly different and his hands fall to her hips, keeping her firmly in place as if she could slip away in a moment's hesitation if he doesn't do something about it.
She wouldn't – he knows that much by now, and it's only solidified by the way she latches onto him in response, her kisses hungry as they leave a trail down his neck and shoulder when she impatiently pushes his undershirt out of her way. By now, he should probably get used to the fact that she's here to stay, but it's too good – she's too good to be true. He knows she's his, as much as someone like Cara can ever belong to anyone but herself, and an encouraging moan slips past his lips when she sinks down on his cock, as if in response to his few lingering doubts.
"Oh, fuck." Her hair, braided back in an elaborate enough style for him to be hesitant to touch it again with how much he'd messed it up already, tickles his collarbone as she leans forward, her breath hot on his chest before she looks up and starts moving, eyes hazy with need. "Fuck, Din."
A pained laugh slips out, breathless and needy as he only ever is for her. His grip on her thighs grows stronger almost without him meaning it to, just a little possessive. "I get the idea."
"Oh, I hope so." And there she is, his lovely bride, in all her glory, as she grins down at him, more queenly than she has any right to be in the position they're in. He imagines her in a crown; something rough and elaborate and fit for a warrior and a leader all at once, and feels his cock twitch in response. Cara's eyelashes flutter, her smile turning filthy. "Maker, I've wanted to fuck you in this stupid chair for ages."
There's little he can do but keep her anchored in place as Cara sets up a rhythm that leaves them both breathless. She feels so intolerably good, despite how messy and restless this is even compared to their usual trysts, and he'd praise her for it yet again if he'd had the words left for it. She knows, he reminds himself again, and it's just as well because by now, it's all he knows, too. One of his hands reluctantly slips away from her thigh to dig into the sea of satin and lace and reach for her clit again, thumbing at her until her breathy gasps turn into the same high-pitched whines he's always trying to bring out of her. "There you are," he praises, barely cognisant of his own words by now, voice so deep he almost can't believe it's coming out of his mouth. He hurries his fingers's movement, all too aware of how well she's already taking him, even without the additional stimulation. She looks wrecked and it's the only push he needs to encourage her even further.
"That's it." He thrusts up against her, jolting her in his lap enough for her to brace on his shoulders again to keep herself stable. The words are pouring out of him without much input from his brain, but she seems to like it well enough, so he keeps going, somehow both impatient and greedy for more. He can feel her tighten around him and he knows her too well to not recognise her body language for what it is. "That's it, Cara, come on my cock—"
She does, just a moment later, her gasp buried into his neck, body shaking with her release as if she'd just been waiting for his permission. The thought is enough to push him into his own climax and Din holds her close, cradling her into his arms as she shakes through the aftershocks, his mind feeling blissfully empty and still all too aware of every sensation for one blessed moment.
It won't last, he had reminded himself every other time before now, it never could. Cara's home has always seemed to be somewhere in open space, in-between this task and the next, ever the dutiful soldier; he had never felt that the mess he'd got himself in with this previously abandoned planet would be enough to substitute that. And it still might not be, really; marriage or not, there's no guarantee that she'll stay here for good, but Din feels hope blossom in his heart, tentative but insistent. They're building something for themselves here, difficult as it is to admit it in front of anyone but himself, and Cara's unspoken agreement of that is enough to keep him hopeful, no matter what happens in the world around them.
"Are you feeling up to being carried over the threshold?" He asks, just as careful, remembering an old Alderaanian tradition he'd read about in preparation for the wedding. Thankfully, all it gets him in response is a still-breathless laugh, even if there's a suspicious shine to Cara's eyes, her voice careful, as if she's holding back something she's not quite ready to let show yet. It's all right – they have all the time in the world, and Din intends to make sure she knows she can, when she's ready.
"I'm not feeling up to much else, let me tell you that."
As he rights their clothes as much as he can before carefully settling her into his arms so that he can march them both out of the throne room, he thinks that that's all right, too – it might be just for now, but there's not much else they're needed for. Just for tonight, the rest of the Galaxy can go on turning without them.