Another Way

by TheEwokingDead

Because of his Creed, Din Djarin chooses to die instead of removing his helmet in front of you. Will this brush with death cause him to find another way?

1. Iljaat

Ijaat - [ee-JAHT] - Devotion

Summary: Because of his Creed, Din Djarin chooses to die instead of removing his helmet in front of you. Will this brush with death cause him to find another way?

"How many are you going to eat today, kid?" you ask as you stare across at the little green gremlin, who has, for what seems like the tenth time today, a frog's legs hanging from his mouth.

"Maker." You shake your head, half in disgust, half in disbelief that so much can fit in such a tiny body and even smaller stomach. You giggle to yourself, then turn your head and stare out at the swampy lake in front of you. The sun beats on your face while a slight breeze tosses your hair over your shoulders. You close your eyes and relish the moment, wishing someone else besides the kid was with you.

Mando…

You wonder how long he'll be gone this time. You hope not too long because you miss his company and small talk, yet you don't want it to be too short of a stay. It was no Naboo, but Sorgan was a welcome change from the dark, dank, almost depressing interior of the Razor Crest.

The job Mando was on didn't seem difficult for a seasoned guild member, but you know it could go either way, really. A quarry who would hide on such a remote planet in the Outer Rim likely wanted to live out his life in peace…or desperately didn't want to be found. He could put up a difficult fight or none at all, Maker knows.

There are no large settlements or starports on the planet, but there was a Common House nearby that served delicious bone broth and locally made spotchka. Would you have time to walk there and eat before he'd return? The kid probably wasn't hungry, but you could eat, and you, unlike the kid, weren't interested in catching your own meal.

"What do you think? Should we stay here and wait for your dad or go for a walk?" The kid finishes his current snack before cocking his head and making a tiny squeak. You look from him to a frog hopping nearby, prompting you to add, "Maybe we should go before you become responsible for the extinction of an entire species."

You smile as you reach down and pick up the child. You turn to place him in his hover pram, but before you can do so you hear an explosion, causing you to jolt and turn toward the sound. Instantly, you see a puff of black smoke rising from the evergreen trees. You estimate that it's a few hundreds of yards away. This planet is peaceful, and as far as you know the closest village is in the opposite direction. Something isn't right.

"C'mon, kid," you say as you quickly place the child into the hover pram. "I'm sure your dad is fine, but we should check it out. Just in case." You close the pram to keep the child safe, feel at your hip to ensure that your blaster is still there, and head off into the forest.

You're careful not to trip on any fallen branches or other vegetation on the forest floor, but move hastily in case Mando, or anyone for that matter, is in trouble. Your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you question if going into the forest alone toward an explosion is the right choice. What if it isn't Mando? What if you get yourself into trouble? Maker knows what Mando would do if the child got hurt because of your carelessness.

After several minutes, you come across a large black spot on the ground, marking where the explosion occurred. There is burnt-out brush and a fallen tree trunk that is smoldering nearby. Any flames left appear low and controlled. Plus, the forest is wet and swampy, so a fire spreading is none of your concern.

You examine the area, your hand at the blaster on your hip in case you need to draw fire. At first, you see no one, nothing else amiss. You relax yourself a bit as you realize that there is no apparent threat. But what in the world could have caused this?

Just as you allow your arm to fall to your side, removing your hand from your weapon, you hear your name coming from a familiar, modulated voice. You whip around and, hidden behind a bush, you see Mando laying on the ground, propped against the trunk of a tree.

"Mando!" you exclaim, running to him and falling to your knees at his side. "What happened? Are you injured?" You frantically look over but can see nothing below his dirty armor, covered in mud and blood and Maker knows what else.

"The quarry," he responds simply, the modulator unable to mask that he's wincing in pain.

"Where is he?"

"That's all that's left of him." Mando gestures to the black spot in the middle of the trees where there's literally nothing but the burnt forest floor. "Guess he decided there are worse things than death." He chuckles lowly.

You try to wrap your head around what he was saying - that the quarry killed himself with a detonator so he couldn't be taken in - but you can't process it. You don't care to process it completely. What happened to the quarry is suddenly the least of your worries.

"Are you injured?" you repeat, realizing he never answered the question.

"My head," he responds bluntly.

"Let me see."

You reach out as if you're going to lift his helmet without question, but Mando instantly grabs your wrists and says, "No."

You stare into the "T" of his helmet, questioning whether he is serious. He lets go and you sternly say, "Mando, I have to see. I can't help you if I don't know what I'm working with."

"The helmet stays on." You could tell by his tone, even altered by the device in his helmet, that he was serious.

You scowl at him, wondering if it's even worth arguing. You quickly give up trying, thinking maybe it wasn't that back. Likely just a ringer if the shock of the explosion sent him flying. Surely, the Beskar would protect him. What is the point of wearing a helmet if not?

"Are you bleeding?" you ask. Before he can answer you place a hand on the back of his neck, reaching as high as the helmet will allow. You can feel his body trembling, shivering as if he was cold, which wasn't possible on this sunny, spring-like day. You immediately feel something warm and wet touch your hands. You pull your hand out and into view, instantly seeing it covered in a familiar crimson fluid.

"You're bleeding. Let me see how badly."

You pull him forward a little bit, pulling him away from the tree. You look at his back, seeing blood run steadily from his helmet and down his back. You wonder how he's even conscious and realize there may be more gravity to the situation than originally appeared. You try to remain calm, for his sake, for your sake, for the sake of the child watching from the pram a few feet away.

"Damn," you swear, remembering you had spent the afternoon relaxing near the lake, not at all prepared to act as a medic. "I don't have the bacta pump on me."

"It wouldn't be enough."

"It would've been enough to get you to the ship. There's bacta spray there. I'll just run for that." You go to stand, but he again reaches out and grabs your wrist to stop you, pulling you back to the ground beside him.

"No. The ship's too far. You'll never make it back in time."

Too far? It was only a fifteen-minute walk one way, tops. Quicker if you ran. You glare at him, knowing there was no time to waste. Half-jokingly you say, "I'll carry you there if I have to."

He lets out a gruff chuckle. "The Beskar alone weighs too much."

You know he's right, that it was an empty suggestion. You were strong, but not strong enough to carry a full-grown man, with or without armor. You weren't thinking. You didn't have time to think.

"I'll find help." As soon as you say it, you know that he knows that the nearest fishing village is just as far as the ship, and anyone there wouldn't have the medical knowledge to help. Even if you did find help, you know he wouldn't allow it. The damn helmet. Why wouldn't he take it off, if only for a moment, just enough time to stabilize whatever wound was there?

You don't even leave him enough time to argue before you say, "Look, we don't have time for this. Let me see if there's anything I can do to stop the bleeding so I can run to the ship. I'm sure whatever is going on in there looks worse than it actually is."

"Go," he commands curtly. "Take the kid. Keep him safe. Find the Jedi. Find Ashoka Tano."

"Just let me go to the ship for the spray. I can make it." You sound confident, but who are you trying to convince?

"I won't make it," Mando responds harshly. "Just go. Protect the child."

You stop. What does he mean he won't make it? You laugh it off. "This is bantha shit, Mando. Let me remove the helmet and look and your wound. I can slow if not stop the bleeding."

"It. Is. Forbidden," Mando replies in between grunts of pain.

"What is?" you question, a bit irritated. "Is it that you can't take your helmet off or you can't show your face?" Daggers are shooting out of your eyes. He's being so unreasonable and it's exasperating. "Because I know your helmet can come off. You have to eat. You have to wash. So don't tell me that taking your helmet off is forbidden." You pause. "If it's your face that's the problem, I won't look. I don't need to see your face to fix your head. See, look? I'm not looking." You cover your eyes. "You could be helmetless right now and no one would ever know."

"Stop playing games and go," Mando finally speaks, blunt as ever.

Your hands fall from your face and you place them on your hips. "I'm the one playing games?" you question rhetorically, eyebrows raised. "I'm not the one playing with my life over a fucking piece of metal. Now, we've wasted enough time." You rise to your feet. "I'll go to the ship and get the bacta spray."

"Just…go," Mando suddenly sounds breathless and tired. "Leave me…to die."

You were prepared to run, but hearing the last word causes you to pause. Until that moment, you were in denial. You thought he was overreacting, being overly dramatic at a slight ringer. His Beskar is invincible. He is invincible.

"You're not dying today, Mando." The words weren't for him, but for you. It was one last attempt to ignore the situation. "You-you can't." Your face softens, any frustration left in you dissipating. You slowly fall back to your knees at his side. You gaze into his "T," trying to come to terms with the fact that he may die and there was nothing you could do. Nothing he would allow you to do.

The dam that was holding back your tears breaks, allowing them to fall down your cheeks. He doesn't say a word as you wonder why he is so adamantly refusing help. You grab a gloved hand and assure him in a whisper, "There is no way in Malachor I'm leaving you to die."

You listen to his deep, slowed breathing and quiet moans of pain. Finally, he says, "Can I-Can I feel you?"

You're perplexed by this request at first. You furrow your brows and look at the hand in yours. Carefully, you remove the glove, feeling his hand and what warmth is left in it. His skin is smoother than you expected it. You pull him up to your tear-stained face, letting him feel your skin with his naked hand for the first time. For a moment, you wish things were completely different, that another situation had led to his naked skin touching yours.

"Mando…" you start to beg.

"Don't."

"Mando, please," you continue. "Do it for the kid. He needs you." You caress his hand as you push it harder against your cheek. "I need you."

You pause, waiting for a response. A reaction. Anything. His breathing seems shallower.

"Come here," you whisper as you pull Mando close to you. You gently lay his head on your lap. You feel the heat of his blood as it drips out of his helmet and onto your leg. You hold him there, one hand cradling his head, the other holding his ungloved hand. If he's so adamant about dying, you won't let him do it alone.

As you sit there, silently weeping, holding Mando in your lap, a rustling noise causes you look up to see the child as he stands beside you both. You had completely forgotten that you'd brought him with you, that he was witnessing all of this, that he was going to watch his surrogate father die. "I'm sorry, kiddo," you whisper tearily. "There's nothing I can do."

The child cocks his head to the side, observing Mando's armored faced. He doesn't appear sad, but curious. Determined. He waddles closer to Mando, reaches out a hand, and closes his eyes. You watch, wondering if this was his way of saying goodbye. The child's body begins shaking, which puzzles you. Several moments pass before you notice that, as if suddenly, blood is no longer dripping onto you. You just feel the wetness of the blood that had already fallen, nothing fresh.

You weep in confusion. Finally, the child pulls his arm back and collapses to the forest floor, eyes peacefully shut. He is…asleep? You stare at him, perplexed. What in Malachor is happening?

You hear your name through the modulator and look down at Mando, laying in your lap, his breathing stronger and more regular. He is no longer making any groans in pain. The hand in your hand is growing warm. You're more confused. You move one hand from the back of his helmet down to his neck and try to reach inside, straining to feel for fresh blood. All you feel is his wet, matted hair and blood that was already beginning to dry. You try to put the pieces together in your head, try to understand what you'd just witnessed. You had seen the kid do some extraordinary things, but this…Was this even possible?

"He…He can heal?" you question. It sounds even more ridiculous to you when said aloud. "Are you…are you okay? Can you sit up?"

Mando is already trying to sit himself up before you can help. As you realize this, you tighten the grip on his hand and offer support, afraid he didn't have enough strength. He sits with his back propped against the tree, just as you had found him. "I'm okay," he assures you as he lets go of you.

You stand and step back, staring down at him. You're trying to process everything that just happened. Your mind is absolutely racing. A million emotions flood you. You're confused. You're relieved. You're angry. You're hurt. He was going to die for his Creed. An honorable thing, typically, but he was willing to die instead of doing something as simple as removing his helmet and letting you help. Your pleas were meaningless to him.

"Can you walk? Do you think you can make it back to the ship?" you question, trying not to let any emotion shine through.

"Yes, I think I'll be fine," Mando responds, sounding confused. "I-I just need a minute."

You don't know why, but the answer angers you. You shouldn't be upset with someone who was moments away from death, and you can't really pinpoint what exactly has made you so upset, but you are.

"Good," you say. Your voice is cold. You bend down and pick up the sleeping savior. You gently place him into the pram floating nearby. As you do this, you add, "Take your time. Walk back to the ship when you're ready. Clean yourself up. I'll prepare the ship and get the journey to our next destination started." You don't look at him as you say this, trying hard to fight back tears.

You begin to walk in the direction of the ship, the pram holding the snoring child following behind you. Mando calls your name. You don't stop. You don't look back. Instead, you hold up your hand and say, "I have spoken, Mando."

You wait until sealing yourself in the cockpit before absolutely breaking down, afraid that Mando followed immediately behind you and the kid. You didn't want him to see. You didn't want him questioning the tears, the sadness, the anger. If you saw him, you'd probably break your fist trying to hit him. You wanted to strangle him. He didn't care, you thought. He didn't care enough to let you save him. It was so stupid to feel that way, it was irritational, you know, but you couldn't help it.

You question whether you had completely misinterpreted everything between you two. You had only been flying with Mando for a few months, but despite such a short amount of time, it seemed apparent that you two had gotten close. At first, he was short. Distant. Aloof with you even. He was annoyed by your questions, your small talk, your feeble attempts to make him smile under that chunk of metal.

But as time went by, he appeared to warm up to you. He would use more and more words when responding to you, would even engage in some playful banter. You'd heard his deep chuckles more than anyone else, even the kid, you were certain. You no longer seemed in the way when he navigated the crooks of the Crest, and sometimes you wondered if he intentionally came across you in tight spaces so he'd have a reason to slide his hand across your back as he inched past you. He even offered his bed to you so you wouldn't always have to sleep in the uncomfortable passenger chair of the cockpit. Not to mention the time or two he saved your ass when you accompanied him on a mission and got yourself into some trouble.

You thought he had come to care for you. Maybe even caught feelings for you as you had done for him. Maybe you were overanalyzing things, as you tend to do. Maybe he only cared about you because you cared for his kid. Perhaps your ridiculous infatuation with storybooks as a child had gone to your head and you were seeing things that were never there.

You feel so stupid. How could you come to love a man you barely even know? You didn't know who he was, where he came from, not even his name. You didn't even fully understand his Creed. Much of your conversations were always about you, the kid, or your mission. He knew so much about you, and yet still didn't seem to care about you as much as you did him.

You sit in the pilot's chair of the Razor Crest, staring out into the vast darkness of space in front of you while listening to the silence that filled the room. You are numb. You don't know how much time has passed since you embarked on the journey to the next destination. An hour? Two at the most.

Your tears had stopped spilling when you heard Mando embark on the ship, some short time after you and the kid, who was still silently sleeping below. Mando is still below as well, maybe obeying your order to clean up. Hopefully avoiding you. You don't know. You don't care. But the ship never felt smaller and you know you can't avoid each other for long.

Then you hear it. The sound of the cockpit door sliding open. You close your eyes and pray to the Maker that he was just coming to relieve you, to dismiss you, not to talk. There was nothing to talk about. There was nothing to discuss. You had absolutely nothing to say.

Despite it being masked by the modulator, you can almost hear a hint of pleading in his voice when he speaks your name, as if he's begging to talk to you. You take a deep breath and open your eyes.

"The kid?" you ask, trying to steer away from heavy conversation. "Is he still asleep?"

Mando responds with a simple, "Yes."

"Do you want to take over or do you need rest?" you ask, continuing to stare out the window in front of you, completely motionless.

"We should talk."

Shit. Your heart pounds against your chest. You don't want to do this. Not now. Not ever.

You're afraid it may lead to pouring your entire heart out to him, only to be rejected.

"I don't think there's anything we need to discuss." You're still curt.

"I think there is," Mando responds. "I want you to understand-"

"No, Mando," you cut him off, speaking matter-of-factly. You spin the chair around to face him. "There's nothing to understand."

"Nothing?" he questions. He is standing in the doorway, sans armor, wearing only the garments he usually wears underneath the armor and, of course, his helmet. His clothes appear clean, likely indicating he had been to the fresher and cleaned himself up, as instructed. Seeing him like this causes you to pause. He didn't often come around you without his Beskar. He had been a bit more lax about things lately, likely allowing you to be near him as he carefully lifted his helmet just enough to eat or seeing him without bits and pieces of armor that needed cleaned, but you've never seem him this exposed.

"No," you say after several moments. "Because I think I understand everything perfectly clear." You rise to your feet. "I understand that you were willing to die today. For no reason. I could've saved you, I could've at least tried, but you chose to die. You would rather die than show me your face."

"My Creed-"

"Is bantha shit, Mando." You glare at him. "Any Creed that tells you to just roll over and die is absolute fucking bantha shit. If the kid hadn't saved you-" You stop yourself, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. "If the kid hadn't saved you, you would be dead right now."

"But I'm not," he gently reminds you.

"You were knocking on Maker's door, Mando," you snap. "And why? Because of a piece of armor? It's not like it's fused to your head."

"You don't understand."

"Help me understand then," you plead angrily. "Is there even an answer to the question I asked you before? Can you not remove your helmet or not reveal your face? Because there's a difference. Help me understand."

Mando is silent. His body language tells you that he doesn't have an answer.

"If it's a question of your identity, you can trust me."

"It's not about trust."

Ignoring him, you assure him, "Anything you tell me, anything you show me, is safe with me. I mean, what do you think I would do? Go planet to planet screaming your description? Tell the galaxy I saw your face?" He doesn't answer. "Who would even care?" You stop before continuing. "How many people even follow your ancient as all fuck code?"

The question seems to sting him, as if he knew the answer and didn't want to admit that there were very few followers of his Creed left.

"I-I would have never left that skug hole of a planet if it meant keeping you alive, protecting your identity," you confess. You have no idea why you say this, but you continue to spill your guts. "We could have stayed there, lived a simpler life. No worrying about your helmet or anyone discovering that I ever saw your face, even just the one time. All that would have mattered is you were with me." You pause before adding, trying to recover, "The kid too, of course."

Mando seems taken aback. His body language says that he is uncomfortable. He walks past you, to the front of the cockpit, standing near the captain's chair and looking forward out the glass.

Your gaze follows him and you stand here waiting, but he is silent for several moments.

Finally, you watch his body shift as he takes a deep, heavy breath. He exhales slowly. "What if you're right?" He turns to see you. "What if Bo-Katan is right?"

You ruffle your brows in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I was rescued by Mandalorians, by The Watch, as a foundling. Treated as their own. Sworn to their Creed. I was taught that their way is the way. The only way." He pauses, as if trying to piece his thoughts together while speaking. He turns and looks back out the window, his hands on his chair. "What if it's not the only way? What if I was raised by the religious zealots Bo-Katan believes them to be?"

Your eyes soften as you look toward him. Is he-is he really opening to you? He had been acting strange since meeting Bo-Katan and her allies, since she revealed that she was born on Mandalore with armor passed down three generations. That he had been raised by a cult. Had that information truly left him conflicted? Did it cause him to question his Creed, his life? It made sense. It must have been why he had turned quieter than usual, why he suddenly seemed cold and distant and wanted to be alone.

You suddenly feel any anger left in you slip away. You realize how incredibly lonely he must be, to be one of the few Mandalorians left to follow such strange, stringent rules. "Mando, I…" you start, not knowing what to say. You shift your thoughts. "Do you believe her?"

"Should I?" he turns and looks at you, indicating that he really wanted to know what you had to say.

"I-I don't…Why should my opinion matter?" you question. You know so little about Mandalore, the Mandalorians, their Creed, their history beyond what Bo-Katan and Mando has told you. You know he had been saved and raised in their religion, as he had just repeated, but little of the people who raised him or their motive. To ask for your thoughts felt bizarre.

"Because I trust your opinion."

To hear him admit that leaves you stunned. You take a deep breath and respond in a serious tone, "You have everyone reason to owe your life to The Watch for saving you, but I worry they used that to their advantage. To brainwash you. Like Bo-Katan said." You step closer to him, feeling the distance between you two makes things feel impersonal. "You were only a child. Ignorant. Vulnerable. Easy to mold to their way. Maybe they knew you wouldn't question them or their beliefs."

Mando turns his back to you once more. You can tell that it was something he didn't want to hear but needed to. You take another step and lay a hand on one of his shoulders. You can feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. Any other moment, it would've sent tingles down your body. But now is not the time to be thinking of such things.

"I'm sorry you've been dealing with this," you tell him in a soft voice, "but you don't have to deal with it alone." Several seconds pass by before you add. "I'll always be here for you."

You take your hand off Mando's shoulder, waiting for him to respond. You don't expect him to immediately. His world had been shattered recently, and you only stepped on the pieces further. It couldn't be easy to process.

His posture changes. He straightens himself and turns toward you. "What you said on Sorgan. That you need me. Did you mean it?"

You're taken aback by the question. "Of-of course I did," you squeak. You're nervous, wondering why he would ask such a thing, but you don't break your gaze into his helmet.

Mando steps as close as he can to you. You're uncomfortable, not because you don't want him there – Maker knows you love when he's close to your body, even when it's not on purpose – but you were unaware of where this was leading.

"How did you mean it?"

You swallow hard and look at your feet. You're dealing with an expert negotiator, and you knew there was no way you were getting out of this without revealing your feelings in some way, shape, or form. Water wells in your eyes.

He speaks your name, causing you to look up at him. You know he can see the tears in your eyes; he isn't blind.

"How did you mean it?" he repeats.

"I think you know." You pray that he doesn't make you say it, doesn't make you pour your heart out right then and there.

"Yes, I do," he responds, making you close your eyes and breath in deeply as you turn your head away. "But I want to hear you say it."

You look at him again, through wet eyes. "What do you want to hear? What do you want me to say?" you question. "That I've fallen for a man whose name I don't even know?" You shake your head and laugh at the ridiculousness of it. "That would make me the dimmest star in the entire galaxy, wouldn't it?"

"Say it." Mando's voice is calm.

You shake your head. Why was he making you do this?

"Say it," his tone is more commanding this time.

"I love you," you whisper, the tension finally breaking. You turn and step away, putting your head in one of your hands. "Dank Farrik," you mutter under your breath before inhaling deeply. You turn to look at him, staring at him from across the room, tears streaming down your face. "It's so damn stupid, but I love you. And when I say that I'm here for you, that I would never leave you, I mean it. I-I'd do anything for you. I may not be as strong as you or wear a suit of Beskar, but I would go to Malachor and back for you."

You may as well be naked because that's how exposed you feel. "Are you happy now?"

You look away, feeling so utterly embarrassed and vulnerable that you can't stand to look at him. Your heart is thumping against your chest, feeling as though it may explode. No, no. It couldn't be your heart causing all that noise and pain because you had clearly just thrown it on the floor of the Razor Crest for him. It laid on his feet, there for him to either stomp on or carefully pick up.

It's quiet in the room. It feels like minutes, hours, years go by, but it's mere seconds. Finally, you hear his footsteps as he moves toward you. He places a hand on your chin and softly guides you to look at him. You look up at him through wet eyes, wishing you could see the eyes hiding behind the "T." Briefly, you wonder what would happen had it not been wearing the helmet. Would you kiss him? Would he kiss you?

He removes his hand after a minute and instructs, "Take it off."

His modulated voice causes you to tingle, but you're shocked by his request. "What?"

"The helmet," Mando responds.

You feel stupid for thinking he meant anything else, but you're confused. It seemed to come from him so suddenly. "Are-are you sure?"

"Yes," he responds, his voice swiftly seeming desperate. "I want you to do it. Please. Show me another way."

You stare back into the "T," in complete disbelief that this was happening. That you were moments away from solving the mystery of his face. Would he look as you had imagined, as he had come to you so often in your dreams?

Without questioning him further, you reach your arms up and grasp the cold metal of his helmet. You take a deep breath, wondering if this was the right thing to do. Did he truly want this? And why? Why now? Why like this? Did he…could he possibly share your feelings? Could he want to kiss you as you wanted to do to him?

You push the thoughts aside and lift the helmet from his head. As soon as the helmet is clear of him, you take it in one hand, drop your arm and let the helmet fall to the floor with a clunk. The only thing you care about is him. Seeing him. Your eyes are immediately drawn to his. He has brown eyes. Two beautiful and delicate brown eyes. His brows are furrowed, creating wrinkles at the bridge of his nose that you wish you could kiss away. He must feel so vulnerable at that moment, more so than you, and the thought melts you further.

He breaks your gaze for a moment to look at the helmet on the floor and motions toward it. "You're lucky that's Beskar or that would've left a dent." He looks up and gives a small half-smile.

Whether he was trying to make you feel more at ease or himself, you don't know. But you find yourself returning a small, shy smile. You're nearly breathless, nervous as to what to say or do next. You have a strong urge to touch him, to feel the stubble on his face or wrap your fingers in the dark hair on his head. But you're afraid. Afraid you may scare him away, as if he was some wild animal that had never encountered a human before and would scurry away at the slightest movement.

But you can't stop yourself. It's too tempting. You slowly raise your arm and move your hand to his face. He flinches the second your fingertips touch him, and you start to withdraw your arm. Your eyes are fixed on his and his on yours. He doesn't retreat further, so you return to laying your hand on his face. He, as if realizing it's okay, closes his eyes. He takes a shaky breath, shattering your heart. He is trembling, but you feel his jaw muscles relax as he seems to realize it's okay. How long had it been since he'd last been touched? Years? Decades?

His eyes remain shut as you feel the stubble on his face with your palm and caress his cheek with your thumb. His skin is soft and warm, making you feel at ease.

"Mando?"

He opens his eyes. They're glistening. How have you not melted to the floor yet?

"Din," he says softly.

Is that…his name? You start to remove your hand from your face in disbelief, but he quickly reaches up and grabs your wrist, pulling your hand back to his face. "No, don't. Please." He doesn't remove his hand from your wrist. Instead, he leaves it there for a few seconds, before guiding your hand down to his lips, where he kisses your fingertips. His lips are just the right amount of plumpness and softness.

Din lets go of your hand, but you don't retract it. Instead, you return it to his cheek. Your breathing is quick and deep as you feel a hotness spread throughout your body, all the blood pulling to the area between your legs. You pull yourself in and plant a single, slow kiss on his lips before pulling back to see his reaction. You almost regret breaking away, as his lips were so warm and welcoming you wanted to stay forever.

The two of you gaze into each other's eyes, as if neither one of you know what to do next, not necessarily out of inexperience but because you're afraid of hurting the other, of taking it too far. Is that what he wanted?

Before you can even think to do or say anything else, Din reaches out and simultaneously puts his hand on the back of your head and another on your waist. He pulls you into him and starts kissing you deeply, passionately. He guides you, lips still locked, pushes you against the wall of the cockpit, kissing you with a fieriness you've never been kissed with before. His hand moves to your neck as you both use your tongues, his massaging yours before they twist together. His touch on your skin gives you goosebumps.

Din unlocks his lips and moves his kisses to your throat. He quickly kisses up your neck until he gets to your ear, where he nips your lobe. "I want you," he breathes. "All of you."

"Then take me."

As much as you want him to fuck you right then and there, pushed against the wall tightly, you're still clothed. Din pushes himself off you, his eyes locked with yours. He lifts his shirt as you fumble with your own garments. Once you both are topless, you lock lips again, unable to stay away from each other for long. He pushes you against the wall again, your back touching the cold metal, his body grazing your naked breasts. You wrap your arms around him, feeling his thick brown locks with one hand while touching his back with the other. His hands are against the wall on either side of you, making you incapable of escaping, as if you wanted to.

You stay like this, kissing deeply for several moments, before unwrapping your arms and moving them to his chest. He stops kissing you and lays his forehead against yours as you rapidly trace his body with your hands, feeling his skin with your fingertips. You start at his chest, down to his abs, then to his belly button before finally following a small trail of hair straight to the waist of his pants. You stick a couple fingers into the waistline of his pant and trace straight across, slowly moving back and forth. He lifts his head in the air and quietly moans at the teasing. You look up at him as he closes his eyes and bites his lower lip. This convinces you to put a hand into the front of his pants, in search of his cock. You immediately find it and cup it with your hand, feeling its warmth and the long, thick hairs surrounding it. He is throbbing.

Din lowers his head onto your shoulder, obviously approving of the touch. You slowly move from cupping his cock to holding it, your grasp the perfect amount of tightness around him. You activate your wrist muscles, moving your hand up and down the shaft of his cock. At the tip, you slow and rub it with your palm, the circle it with a fingertip, teasing him. He is wet there, which sends a jolt of electricity through you. His breathing turns to pants, his breath warm on your shoulder. Without warning, he gently bites you, trying to contain his moans. His hand grabs at your still-clothed ass, squeezing it. You let out a slight groan, not in pain but ecstasy at the thought of him fighting the urge to cum for you.

You don't allow it. That isn't how you want it. You want him, just as he wants you. You push him away. He looks at you, almost confused, but he sees you tearing off your pants and underwear and follows suit. You don't even stop to admire one another before you're drawn together again, like two opposing magnets left too close to one another. He grabs your face with both of your hands as you kiss, pulling away only long enough for you to gasp at the air. You push him toward one of the passenger seats and push him back into it. He lands with his bare ass on the seat and stares up at you.

Now, you marvel at him, gazing at his perfectly sculpted body, in complete disbelief that he'd ever hide all of this under all that armor. His shoulders are broad, his torso slender yet muscular. You straddle him on the chair, sitting with your feet on his knees and your body against his cock, feeling it pulse beneath you, as if desperate to get inside of you. You put your lips to his as you grind against him, letting his cock get a feel for what's about to come. Din moans into your mouth. Your pussy is soaked. You can only imagine what he's feeling but hope it feels half as good as it feels to glide your clit against his cock.

You raise up on your knees and reach to grab the base of his cock. You slowly lower yourself onto it, feeling the fullness and warmth as it easily glides into your wet grotto. A sense of euphoria rushes over you and sends shivers through your body. It's not as good as an orgasm, but Maker is it wonderful, as if you've inserted the key that unlocks the gateway to pleasure.

You grab the back of the seat with one hand and rest the other on his leg as he places his on your hips. You gaze into one another's souls as you slowly begin to ride him, changing direction every now and then to find what feels best for you both. You start with rolling your hips in little circles, then rock your pelvis up and down. Your clit rubs against him and you feel the tension grow inside of you. You throw your head back and moan. "Oh, Maker."

Din lets out a breath of air as he lays his forehead on your shoulder. "Fuck, you're killing me," he groans through gritted teeth. "Your pussy's too good." He kisses the top of your breast as one hand moves up your back, the other down to your ass, which he cups.

You move your hand from his leg and reach behind and under your ass, looking for his balls. You find them and lightly cup both of his testicles at once.

"Oh fuck!" Din screams. "You better stop or…you'll make me cum."

You pull in close to him so you can whisper in his ear, "I want to make you cum."

He's quiet and focused on his deep breaths, his muscles clenched as if he's fighting the urge to finish. You take it as a challenge and pick up your pace, feeling as if you're about to explode as well.

"No," Din suddenly growls. You feel him move to stand from the chair. Instinctively, you cling to him with your legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. He kisses you before falling to his knees and gently laying you down on the ground of the cockpit.

Instead of placing himself back inside of you, his cock having fallen out of you while shifting positions, he begins to kiss your body, as you did with him, beginning at your neck, down your chest, your stomach, your pelvis. You hope he finds your sweet spot next but instead he moves to your thigh as he pushes your legs apart.

Once your legs are spread, he returns to his original trail, his mouth finding the sweetest of spots right on your clit. You whimper the second he finds it and flicks it with his tongue. He moans, the vibrations sending electricity through your body. You feel a finger slide inside of you. Then a second. He slips them in and out, in and out. He stops only to curl them upward, gliding them along the walls of your pussy in search of another special spot. It isn't nearly as good as his cock but still breathtaking. You find yourself craving his cock, but you don't stop him as he is now sucking on your clit, which nearly sends you over the edge.

"Oh, shit. Oh, fuck," you pant. He can likely tell you're close as your pussy tightens around the extremities inside of you. "I-I want you inside of me. Please, Maker, please."

Din's head appears from between your legs. He slowly pulls himself back on top of you, sucking your nipple and leaving a kiss on your breast before his face is inches from yours. You feel him put his cock into your pussy, which is gushing after all the teasing. You hear the squishing as he thrusts in and out of you, which drives you wild, causing you to squeeze his cock as you did his fingers. You can feel heat come over you as you near orgasm, feeling as though you're on fire

and could combust without warning.

Din kisses you and you can taste yourself on his lips. After pulling away from your lips, he moves his mouth to your ear. "I'm so fucking close."

"Don't stop," you gasp. You're nearly there. "Mando, I'm going to cum." You had called him that for so long and your brain was spinning that the word just slipped out of you, forgetting for a moment that he had revealed his name to you.

"Say my name," he commands between pants, his cock throbbing inside of you as he keeps momentum. The combination of his breath near your ear and his thrusts is what breaks you.

"Oh, fuck, Din!" you scream, finally reaching the edge and fall off the cliff into a sea of ecstasy. As you squeeze tighter around his cock, your pussy spasming, he screams your name. His jerks become erratic, his thrusts hard and deep. You can feel a warm, wet sensation filling you as your tension – and his – is released.

Din pushes himself off you and rolls onto the ground beside you. You're gasping for air, trying to catch your breath. It feels as though there are thousands of tiny effervescent bubbles gliding slowly across your body. It's the only thing you can focus on. You can't think. You can't move. You just…breathe.

Finally, after regaining control of your body, you turn your head to look at him. He's staring at the ceiling, also panting, a look of satisfaction on his face. He turns his head and catches your sight.

"How's that for another way?" you ask, a satisfied smile stretching across your face.

He chortles nervously, then stretches out his arm, indicating that he wants you closer to him. You wiggle against him, one of his arms beneath you, and lay a head on his chest. He lays his head on yours and runs his fingers through your hair.

"You're wrong, you know," he says at last.

"I'm never wrong," you say confidently.

"You-you are the brightest star," he says.

You lift your head enough to be able to look up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What you said earlier," he says, "about being the dimmest star. You're wrong. You are the brightest star in the entire galaxy."

You inhale, almost forgetting to exhale.

He continues, "And I want to stay under your warmth…forever."

Your smile widens as tears well in your eyes. You nuzzle your face into his chest as he wraps his arm around you tighter. He lays his chin on your head and smells the sweet scent in your hair.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum," he whispers.

I love you.