The first time they touch foreheads, it's not really intentional. They're wrestling for fun in the evening, the kid busy with the other children in the village. He's not fully armored, just to even the playing field a little, but obviously the helmet is still on. Several of the men are ranged around, chatting amongst themselves and cheering when one or the other gets in a particularly good hit or pin.
They've been at it for ages, and both can read their fatigue mirrored in the other's flagging momentum. Cara sweeps his legs out from under him and lands on him, then crows her victory as he taps out. "One more?" she asks, "But like actually one."
"Give me second," Din agrees, and she lets out a happy sigh. Her face is inches from his, beskar or no beskar, and of course the easiest place for her to park it is on his helmet.
His heart just about stops. Her eyes are closed, the little rebel tattoo close enough he can see a couple places where the ink is getting patchy. And her forehead is pressed to his. There's padding and insulation between his skin and the beskar, but he imagines he can feel the heat from her contact.
Most people don't know what this means, to his people. She almost certainly can't, or she wouldn't be doing it.
Then she's taking a deep breath, heaving herself up and pulling him along for good measure. He stumbles to his feet, still reeling.
"On second thought, you win," he says, realizing he's dazed enough to be sloppy. She won't pull punches, so unless he really wants his ass kicked he shouldn't go for this final round. Temptation be damned.
"You're no fun, Mando," she gripes, but she's wearing a happy grin.
The second time, it's one hundred percent his own fault.
A couple of days have passed, slow days of helping the village bury bandits and remove the detritus of the ATST, watching the kid play and catch frogs.
Din finds himself inconveniently plagued by thoughts of Cara. Inappropriate thoughts, thoughts for which she would probably pound his face through the ground. He hadn't been having any of those thoughts three days ago, but her innocent faux pas had opened a door he'd previously either ignored or been oblivious to.
Suddenly he can barely look her way without appreciatively noting the ease with which she wears her armor, her strength, the combative twinkle in her eye, the line of her waist to her ankle as she moves. She is, he realizes uncomfortably quickly, a warrior's wet dream. If both were stripped of arms and armor, she might very possibly wipe the floor with him. That is genuinely the most attractive thing he can think of.
And she'd gone and kriffing kissed him in front of half a dozen people and the clear blue sky.
Except she actually had not done any such thing, if you were to ask her.
He wants to do it again. The lean of her head had seemed so delicious. Cara'd made him feel wanted, respected. It could only have been better if she'd known what it was she was doing. The claim she appeared to be staking on him.
They're propped against the barn, speaking closely about nothing much, when Cara rolls her neck with a grimace.
"Hurting?" Din asks.
"Not bad," she dismisses. "Slept funny."
"Come here." He doesn't wait for her to draw closer, just reaches up and places his hand over the back of her neck. Starts to knead.
"God damn, Mando," she half-moans, eyes fluttering shut. "Anyone ever told you you're good with your hands?"
"It's how I make my living," he tells her, keeping a straight face even though neither she nor anyone else could see it if he did crack a smile.
She hums, wincing a little when his thumb digs in somewhere tender, and he can't resist. All it takes is a tiny pressure on the back of her skull, and he can easily tilt his own head down to nudge against her. Forehead to forehead. It's probably not particularly honorable, to steal a kiss like this, but he can't really bring himself to care, when she nudges back. Whether she knows the deeper meaning or not, she's displaying her trust. Maybe even some affection. He can live with just that.
After a moment, he gives her neck a final squeeze and releases her. "Better?" he asks, voice carefully schooled towards neutrality.
"You're the man, Mando," she quips, and rolls her neck again with a markedly less painful expression.
The third time is a hurried thank you. He and the kid are moments from trundling back to the Crest, flying away from the planet where they probably could have been happy, in another life.
Cara is trying to convince him to take a jug of spotchka for the trip. "C'mon, it's good shit," she cajoles. "You can't honestly tell me you're gonna run around the galaxy after a little squirt with no alcohol to take the edge off."
"I think I'll manage," he tells her, dryly. "Besides, I wouldn't want to deprive you."
"Hey, I live here," she says, spreading her arms to encompass the whole of the planet.
"Still. I'll pass."
"Your loss."
"How ever will I bear it." His voice is perfectly flat, and she snorts a laugh. It warms his heart. "Thank you for everything you've done."
"You paid me, Mando." Cara shakes her head. "Anyway, you need a partner in crime again, you kn0w where I'm at. Don't let the little green monster eat you alive."
"He won't. And I will. And still, thank you."
She is in the middle of saying, "Yeah, whatever," when he steps into her space and touches his faceplate to her brow. This time, it stops her in the middle of her sentence, and she focuses in on him warily. She doesn't disallow the contact, though it lasts only a moment longer. Din lets himself sink into the feeling for a moment. It's comforting after the widow's well-intentioned but inappropriate gesture.
"Stay well, Cara Dune," Din half-orders her, and then the villagers descend to wish them on their way. Later, when she offers him a hand to clasp, he savors it, the reciprocity.
"The forehead thing," she says to him, a fair few weeks later in hyperspace, jumping to Nevarro. "What gives?" Below them, in the hold, Kuiil bangs away at the new pram for the kid.
"Uh-" Din says, uncomfortably. It is his own damn fault, he reminds himself. She's not stupid; of course she'd pick up on it. "It's…a way of expressing affection. Among Mandalorians."
"Cool," Cara remarks, and drops it.
That state of affairs is too simple to last.
"So, uh," she drawls, the next time he brings the kid back to Nevarro to fuel up and check for any fairly tame bounties he might take while on this wild goose chase, "You wanna tell me what a Keldabe kiss is?"
He turns himself about ten degrees so he can look at her through the corner of his visor. "Uh-" he says, eloquent. Her expression is saying, This is a trick question. There is a correct answer, and we both know it, and I want to know if you're stupid enough to lie to me.
She cocks an eyebrow and shifts her weight to one hip, throwing it out. It's one of her friendlier postures of challenge, but he can see exactly how much of a threat it's intended to be. "Well?" she prompts.
"You know what it is," he says, grumpily.
"I'm pretty sure I do, yeah. So what is it?" I am not impressed, her face is saying now.
He blows out a breath, steeling his roiling gut. This is his fault.
"Keldabe was a city on Mandalore," he starts, gearing himself up. "It was destroyed during the civil war, but the, uh, term predates that."
"Right, thank you for the history lesson." She rolls her eyes.
"A Keldabe kiss is what you called the forehead thing."
Her stance barely shifts but he can tell that some of the threat has left it. "A gesture of affection between Mandalorians?" she says dryly, and he winces.
"I didn't lie to you."
"Always a great sign when that's your first response." She narrows her eyes at him. "What kind of kiss are we talking here?"
"Depends. Can be friendly. Can be, uh, more than that."
"And what were you doing?"
It's possible he lets the silence stew for ever so slightly too long. "You started it," he blurts, eventually, and it is not the correct thing to say. He knows it. She knows it. People they have never met on planets in distant systems know it.
"When did I kiss you?" Cara demands, bristling.
"On Sorgan. We were wrestling. Which, since I'm telling you about Mandalorians today I guess, is basically courting. And then you knocked me down and planted your face right on mine. That's about as forward as it gets, Dune."
"You knew damn well I didn't know that," she retorts, but her cheeks are kind of red.
"If it's any consolation a Keldabe kiss isn't as intimate to us as one of your kisses probably is to you," Din notes aloud. "It can be. But it can also just be…an expression of affection. Camaraderie. There's only so much nuance you can get out of bumping two faceplates together, it's mostly about context."
"Yeah, and which one were you aiming for? Affection or camaraderie?" Cara has the subject in her teeth and clearly is not willing to let him slip out of this conversation without getting a straight answer.
"Both," he admits, honestly. "You're impressive. You helped me and those villagers and the kid. You're terrifying."
"If you headbutt to kiss I'm guessing you're terrifying is just about a Mando marriage proposal," Cara jokes.
"Not quite. But it is a compliment."
"Hell of a compliment. Just so I don't step on your toes again, what is a Mando marriage proposal?" She shifts her weight again, taking on a less menacing posture.
Din rolls his shoulders to try and dislodge his discomfort. "Not really a thing. Just, when the time feels right we take our beloved's hand and start the vows."
"What, you mean as soon as the urge strikes you you just…start marrying them? What if they don't want it?"
"Then they don't."
"And you don't have to talk about it before?"
"Not necessarily. Or after."
Cara's silent for a long moment, processing. "Okay, I guess I can see how you might have thought I was hitting on you," she concedes.
"Thank you."
"But you absolutely hit on me back."
It's Din's turn to be silent. "...Yes," he admits, reluctantly. His face flames beneath his helmet. "I did."
The expression on Cara's face turns bright and faintly predatory. "So…wanna tell me what Mandos get up to between Keldabe kissing and surprise marriage?"
