The trip back to Tatooine passed by in a blur. Din felt numb, oddly distant from his own body as he watched the stars streak past the viewport. Grogu clung to him the entire journey, holding on to Din's hand tightly. Din was distantly aware of the kid's concerned babbling, but it hardly registered through the fog in his mind.

You are no longer one of us. The armorer's words reverberated through his head, over and over.

He was distantly aware that he was shaking, his leg bouncing up and down, his hands trembling in Grogu's hold. Panic pushed at the edges of his awareness, threatening to overwhelm him.

She won't take me back. He thought distantly, closing his eyes. Why won't she take me back?

He pushed his helmet into his forehead with the heel of his hand, the feel of the cold beskar bringing him back to his body a little. Taking a shallow breath through his teeth, he pushed the helmet again, relishing in the firm pressure. He took a few shaking breaths, trying to settle his heartbeat.

I expected this. Din told himself, forcing himself to inhale deeply. I knew this would happen.

Din had been an apostate for months. The moment he had taken his helmet off on Morak, the moment he was confronted with that impossible choice, the choice between the Creed and Grogu, he had known what the outcome would be. He had known that in the eyes of the tribe, he could never be one of them again. He'd known that, but - but somewhere deep down, I still couldn't believe it. Din thought, his chest aching. I still thought that they would - help me, accept me back. That they would still love me.

Goodbye, my son. The armorer's voice echoed in his mind again, her pain etched into Din's memory. Perhaps she did still love Din, as she had when he was a helpless foundling, a brash apprentice, a trusted warrior. Perhaps she did still see him as a son, a child she had helped raise.

But she won't take me back. The thought hurt, like a knife between Din's ribs.

The armorer had been the leader of the cover for as long as Din could remember. When he had been found, orphaned and alone, the bulky warrior who rescued him took him to the covert before disappearing to go fight somewhere else. Din had never learned his name, and never saw him again. All he remembered of the man was his bulky armor, his battered ship, his gentle words in a language Din had not understood. He'd stayed beside Din while they flew away from the only home Din had ever known, offering him a blanket, food, a cup of steaming tea.

He had carried Din off the ship, letting Din hide his face against his chest plate, speaking to him in soft, soothing tones. Din had been unable to understand Basic, and so hadn't understood what the Mandalorian said to him as he handed Din to another armored stranger, but the tone of his voice was regretful, sad. Din remembered crying, afraid, trembling in this stranger's arms as the man returned to his ship and flew away. He remembered this new stranger holding him close, rocking him back and forth as she carried him into a small shelter. He remembered the humid air around him, the warm sun on his face, the curious gaze of the other foundlings. He remembered this new Mandalorian carrying him into the wooden structure, and setting him down on a small bed. He remembered her bronze armor, the fur cape around her shoulders, her gentle tone as she tried several different languages, each more unintelligible than the last.

It had been the armorer who had taught him to speak Basic and the Mandalorian language, the armorer who had sat patiently beside him and taught him to read and write these languages, encouraging him when he grew upset and frustrated. It had been the armorer who had shown him how to throw a punch, how to polish his armor, how to pilot a ship.

She had been the leader of their covert, but she had been more than that. For the foundlings, children who had been brought into the tribe after losing their families, their homes, the armorer was the closest thing many of them had to a parent. She never adopted any of the foundlings, as other warriors in the covert sometimes did, but she had always treated them all as her own children.

She had always been there to offer a listening ear, words of advice, companionable silence. When Din was younger, timid and afraid amongst all these armored strangers, she had held him close, pressing her helmet to his forehead and rocking him gently. In many ways, the armorer was just as much of a mother to him as the woman who had laid down her life for him so long ago. Din had never doubted her support, just as he had never doubted the truth of the Creed, the solidarity of his brothers and sisters.

Din had known what removing his helmet meant, had known what the consequences would be. He'd known that the covert would turn their backs on him, would exile him from the tribe. He'd known, but some part of him had clung desperately to the hope that the armorer would still forgive him, would still take him back.

He swallowed, his throat aching with the effort of suppressing a sob.

"Ah?" Grogu asked, concern clear in his voice.

Din bounced him on his lap, opening his eyes. The ship shuddered a little as it came out of hyperspace, a view of Tatooine filling the viewport.

"Shh." He murmured, petting Grogu's ear with a shaking hand.

"Da?" Grogu babbled, looking up at Din with wide, worried eyes.

Din smiled weakly behind his helmet. "I'm fine."

He took a deep breath and pushed his morose thoughts to the back of his mind, trying to ignore the grief heavy in his chest.

Not now. Din told himself firmly. Grogu needs you to be strong for him. He couldn't fall apart in front of the kid, couldn't burden him with this complicated maelstrom of emotions.

Grogu's been through enough. Din thought.

"You ready to see Auntie Peli again?" He asked, trying to put a little cheer in his voice.

Grogu sniffed and pressed his little face into Din's chest plate. "Ahh." He protested, curling his little claws around the beskar of Din's vambrace.

"Just for a little bit." Din promised. Just until I get my shit together.

"Ah!" Grogu pouted, sniffling.

"You'll have lots of fun." Din reassured him, patting the kid's back soothingly. "I bet she has some treats for you."

"Patu." Grogu acquiesced, sounding decidedly grumpy.

Din chuckled despite his somber mood, letting go of Grogu to steer the ship down to Mos Espa's landing bay with trembling hands. He parked close to Peli's shop and clambered out of the ship, lifting Grogu up onto his hip. Heading towards the shop, he flipped a coin to the teenage boy guarding the shipyard, ignoring how the kid gawked at Grogu.

"Mando!"

Peli appeared at the doorway, her gaggle of droids peering curiously around her.

"Hello, Peli." Din said. Grogu greeted her with a squeak, waving a little claw in her direction.

"Wasn't expecting to see you back here so soon!" She called, striding over and reaching out impatiently for Grogu. Din handed the kid over and watched as she fussed over him with all the maternal instinct of a possessive mudhorn.

"Who's my little womp rat?" She teased, tickling the kid under his chin. "You are! Yes, you!"

Grogu preened under the attention, letting Peli ruffle what little hair he had on the top of his head. Din rolled his eyes fondly and watched as Peli tossed the kid in the air as he shrieked happily. Catching him, she turned towards Din, raising a judgmental eyebrow.

"Have you been taking care of this little guy?" Peli asked, tucking Grogu into the crook of her elbow. She turned an accusatory gaze towards Din, bouncing Grogu up and down.

"We've been getting on fine, haven't we, kid?" Din said, tickling Grogu under his chin.

"Aaah!" Grogu agreed, waving a claw in his spirited defense of Din. "Da!"

"Hm." Peli bounced Grogu again. "Well, lucky for you, I stocked up on my frog supply. I assume you're out."

"I - there are some on the ship." Din said, a little defensively.

Peli eyed him suspiciously. "We'll see."

Din rolled his eyes behind the helmet. "Can you watch him? I - I have business at the palace."

"Of course." Peli tickled Grogu's side, causing the kid to erupt into peals of laughter.

"I may need you to keep him overnight." Din said. Already, the suns were setting, an orange glow settling over Mos Espa. Residents were heading home, the activity of the day winding down as street vendors packed up their stalls and spacers headed to the cantinas for an evening drink or three.

Din had left early the previous morning, as the rising suns were still half-hidden behind the horizon, Mos Espa's residents still wearing several layers to ward off the morning chill. With the travel time in hyperspace and the different planetary time zones, he'd skipped most of Tatooine's night and the following day traveling to the covert and back. Now, the day's activities were already coming to a close as the suns sank behind the few clouds, the air growing cooler by the minute.

His limbs were heavy and slow from space lag, his body reminding him that he hadn't slept in what felt like days. His eyes felt heavy with exhaustion, and he thought longingly of curling up in bed beside Boba, Boba's strong arm around his shoulders.

Maybe I can avoid telling him about all this. He thought wistfully. Just for a night.

Maybe Din could postpone telling Boba he was an apostate until they'd both had a good night's sleep. Telling him that the tribe had rejected Din, telling him that Din had lied to him, had let him believe that Din was still an honorable Mandalorian - that conversation was one Din dreaded the thought of facing right now, exhausted as he was. He could - better explain himself, maybe, if he'd slept some. Cuddling with Boba, sleeping practically atop Boba's solid chest - that was just an added bonus.

"All right, but it'll cost you." Peli said, planting a messy smooch to the top of Grogu's head. "Have to make a living, don't I? Yes, Peli has to bring home credits, doesn't she?"

"Ahh." Grogu said sagely.

Din rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll return to pick him up tomorrow."

Peli grinned smugly, bouncing Grogu on her hip. "Pleasure doing business with you, Mando."

"I'm sure." Din said dryly. He reached out to pet one of Grogu's ears gently. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

Grogu's ears drooped a little, and he looked up at Din with wide eyes. "Da?"

"You'll have so much fun." Din promised. "And you can tell me all about it tomorrow, all right?"

"Ah." Grogu agreed reluctantly, turning his face up to Din's in a wordless request for affection. Din obliged him, of course, pressing his helmet to Grogu's forehead, cupping the back of the kid's head gently.

They stayed that way for a long moment, just breathing together, Grogu's little claws curled around the edge of Din's handguard. Finally, Din leaned back, clearing his throat a little.

"I'll see you tomorrow." He promised, reaching into his satchel and tossing a bag of credits in Peli's direction.

She caught them and looked inside, raising an indignant eyebrow. "Mando! You're killing me here. Frogs ain't cheap, you know."

Din rolled his eyes. "Half now, half tomorrow."

"All right, all right." Mollified, Peli tucked the credits into a pocket. "You headed to see Fett?"

"Yes." Din looked up, checking the position of the suns. "If I leave now, I should make it to the palace before nightfall."

He adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, tucking the ship's key fob into one of the pockets.

"Leave the ship here." Peli suggested, her tone sly. "Me and the boys here could fix her up real nice."

Din sighed tiredly. "Fine. Nothing too major."

"Of course not." Peli agreed, waving one of the droids forward to inspect the ship. "Just routine maintenance, maybe a paint job."

Din sighed again, and looked over at Grogu. "Be good, okay?"

"Ahh." Grogu agreed, waving a claw.

"Bye, kiddo." Din said, tossing the key fob in Peli's direction before turning and heading down the street to where several rickshaw drivers mingled, cups of murky brown alcohol in their hands.

"How much for a ride to the palace?" He asked, addressing the nearest driver.

The man snorted, knocking back the contents of his cup. "Sorry, pal. It's past suns set, we're closed."

Din reached into his satchel and set a bag of credits on the passenger seat of the rickshaw. "How much?" He repeated.

The man gave him a saccharine smile, scooping up the credits eagerly. "I'm sure we could arrange something. B-3!"

A short, stocky astromech rolled out from behind the rickshaw, beeping angrily.

"Shut up." The driver snapped, hoisting himself into the driver's seat. "We got a customer."

Beeping morosely, the droid rolled over to the front of the rickshaw, letting the driver buckle it into a metal harness in the front of the cart.

Din climbed into the backseat, wincing as the rickshaw groaned under his weight.

"Let's go." The driver patted the astromech's dome roughly, whistling. The droid beeped irritably but set off down the street, pulling the cart behind him.

Din held on to the side of the rickshaw and remained quiet for most of the drive, watching the suns sink lower in the sky and ignoring the driver's curses. He let the sounds wash over him as they rattled along, trying not to think about what he would find at the palace.

Would Boba be angry that Din had kept the truth from him? Would he finally realize that Din had lost his honor when he'd lost his helmet?

Boba wasn't a Mandalorian, but he was the son of a Mandalorian. He had never sworn the Creed, but he understood what it meant to wear beskar armor, what it meant to fight with honor.

Maybe he doesn't fully understand what the Creed means, Din thought, but he's never made fun of it, or - or tried to convince me to take off the helmet.

Boba had always respected Din's choice not to take off the helmet, had never questioned it. He might not fully understand its significance, but he had never judged Din for following the Creed.

Maybe he'll understand why I had to take the helmet off. Din thought, a little desperately. Maybe I can still work for him, even if he doesn't want to be friends anymore.

The thought of losing his friendship with Boba made his chest feel tight, dread settling in his stomach. They had become close over the last few weeks, fighting side by side in Mos Espa, hunting Bane out in the desert, sharing a bed at night, curled up together.

I don't want to lose that. Din thought, swallowing past the lump in his throat. The thought of losing Boba's regard, of losing what they had together made Din want to run far into the Dune Sea and never face another living being again.

Even if we can't have anything else together, I want that. Even if Din could never be Boba's spouse, even if they could never bump beskar, he didn't want to lose the easy camaraderie they had found together, working side by side.

"Hey, Mandalorian, we're here." The driver grumbled, kicking the astromech's dome as the droid squealed.

The rickshaw stopped abruptly, pulling Din out of his thoughts as he almost fell face first on the ground. Grabbing on to the side of the cart, he swore viciously in Tusken, glaring at the man.

The driver shrugged unrepentantly. "You want to get out, or not?"

Din heaved himself out of the cart with a groan, grumbling in Tusken under his breath.

"Pleasure doing business with you." The driver retorted, knocking his boot against the astromech. The droid beeped tiredly and turned around, steering the cart back in the direction of Mos Espa.

Din turned towards the palace, taking a deep breath.

"Here goes nothing." He muttered, walking towards the palace's main entrance.

The guard recognized him and waved him through, nodding genially in his direction as he walked through the massive doors.

Boba had clearly been busy in his absence. The halls were filled with people coming and going, Tuskens and moisture farmers, city dwellers and mechanics, pilots and smugglers, chatting and drinking, cutting a few deals here and there. Din had never seen the palace so busy, even back in Jabba's day.

Looks like the new Daimyo is good for business.

Din nodded to those that recognized him, mostly Tuskens and a few bounty hunters, but ignored their attempts to make conversation and headed straight to the throne room. Nodding to the Gamorrean guards, he walked in to find the throne room just as packed, throngs of people dancing and drinking, playing sabacc, discussing trade deals, with Boba presiding over it all from his seat on the throne.

The sight of Boba sprawled lazily across the throne, gaderffi in hand, his beskar freshly painted, made Din's heartbeat pick up, heat prickling in his belly.

Stop it. He told himself firmly, approaching the throne on trembling legs.

Boba inclined his head as Din approached. "Djarin. Welcome back." He said warmly. "How was your journey?"

"Enlightening." Din replied, stopping in front of the throne.

"Good, good. Care to tell me about it over a drink?" Boba waved a hand towards the bar, where Fennec Shand leaned against the counter, her hand on the bartender's hip as she whispered in the woman's ear. Din blushed at the sight, but nodded.

"I'd like that." He said, trying to keep his voice even.

"Excellent." Boba stood from the throne in a smooth motion, slinging the strap of his gaderffi over one shoulder. Din followed him to the bar, watching as the crowd split easily to let Boba pass, their eyes tracking him as he went.

Boba ignored Fennec and reached behind the bar to pull out a bottle of clear liquor and two shot glasses. He set them down on the countertop and poured two drinks, handing one to Din before taking one for himself.

"So, how was the trip?" Boba asked, taking off his helmet and setting it on the counter. He clinked his glass against Din's and knocked it back in one swig. Din followed suit, tipping his helmet back just enough so that he could drain his glass, coughing at the burn.

Boba chuckled, and poured them each another shot. "Don't drink much?"

Din shook his head. "I - no, not often."

He picked up the glass, turning it in his hands nervously. "I - is there somewhere we can talk? There's - there's something I should tell you."

Boba frowned. "Of course. We can use my rooms, if you'd like. Everything all right?"

"I - there's just something you should know." Din said, tilting his helmet up a little and downing another shot, wincing.

"All right." Boba emptied his glass and set it down, picking up his helmet and tucking it under his elbow. "C'mon."

Anxiety twisting in his stomach, Din followed close behind as Boba led the way out of the throne room and through the winding hallways, finally stopping in front of a lift. Din followed him inside, and watched as Boba pressed a button, the lift rattling softly as it carried them up to the palace's top floor. The doors opened with a soft chime, and Boba gestured towards the room beyond the lift.

"After you."

Din stepped out of the lift, Boba close behind him, and looked around. Boba's rooms were large and airy, with tall windows along one side of the room offering a view of the desert sands, Mos Espa a tiny spot of light in the distance. A bacta tank stood against one wall next to an armor rack, with a bed pushed against the opposite wall and a good-sized worktable in the middle of the room. Light curtains fluttered in the evening breeze, rustling softly against the open windows. Boba flicked a switch near the lift, turning on a few lamps built into the walls, their light a soft yellow glow.

It's - cozy. Din thought, surprised. Utilitarian, yes, but also somehow warm and welcoming.

Boba saw him look around and grinned, setting his helmet on the worktable. "Not what you expected, is it?"

"No." Din admitted sheepishly, walking closer to the windows and looking out over the desert sands. "Was it like this in Jabba's day?"

Boba shook his head, coming over to stand next to Din. "I'm having most of the palace renovated. The old slug built most of this place to look like the palaces on Nal Hutta. I thought I'd fix it up a little, add a personal touch."

"It's nice." Din agreed.

Boba hummed in agreement, and knocked his shoulder against Din's, beskar chiming softly.

They stood quietly for a moment, looking out over the sands, listening to the soft rustling of the curtains, the faint whistling of the desert wind. Finally, Boba cleared his throat and turned to face Din, raising a scarred eyebrow.

"You had something you wanted to discuss?" He prompted.

Din swallowed nervously, and tore his gaze away from the desert. "Yes. I -" He cut himself off, anxiety twisting in his stomach.

Just do it. He told himself, curling his hands into fists.

"Din?" Boba frowned.

Just tell him.

"I - I haven't been honest with you." He said, digging his nails into his palms, the pressure blunt through the thick leather of his gloves. "I - I'm not Mandalorian. Not - not anymore."

There was a moment of silence. Din fixed his gaze on Boba's boots, unable to look him in the face.

"Okay." Boba said softly.

Din's head snapped up, shocked. "Did you hear me? I'm not Mandalorian."

"I heard you." Boba replied, taking a step closer.

"I broke my Creed." Din said desperately, his hands trembling. Panic seized in his chest, threatening to overwhelm him, his lungs burning. Sweat dripped down his neck, itching fiercely. His helmet suddenly felt too tight, the beskar pushing against his skin, claustrophobic and unyielding.

I can't breathe. Din took a short, ragged breath, the air in his helmet feeling stale in a way it hadn't since he was a newly armored apprentice. His whole body trembled, his face burning hot behind the helmet.

Fuck it. He thought, heart racing. Reaching up with shaking hands, Din released the seal of his helmet, hesitating for a split second before tugging it off in one sharp motion.

He heard Boba inhale sharply in surprise. "Din?"

"I'm not Mandalorian." Din said again, gripping his helmet so tightly his gloves creaked. His heart hammered in his chest. The sensation of the cool breeze on his bare face sent a shiver down his spine, the feeling overwhelming in its intensity.

He met Boba's gaze for a moment, heart pounding.

"I - I took my helmet off, on Morak." Din said, taking a shallow breath. "To get access to the Imperial database, to - to find the kid."

He clutched his helmet tighter, focusing on the faint pin pricks of pain where the edge of the beskar dug into the pads of his fingers.

"It's all right." Boba said, watching him carefully.

Din shook his head. "No. I - you don't understand." He stared at the helmet in his hands, avoiding Boba's gaze. "I'm - I'm an apostate. An outcast." He felt sick, bile rising in his throat. His heart thudded wildly in his chest.

"I should've told you. I - I lied to you."

"You didn't lie, Din." Boba's voice was too understanding, too gentle, and it made Din want to hide, to run. His legs trembled with the effort of staying, of facing this conversation head on.

"I did." He swallowed, staring at his helmet, clutching it so tightly his knuckles went white. He couldn't look Boba in the eye. "I - you thought I was a Mandalorian, and I'm - I'm not, anymore."

"Because you took your helmet off?" Boba asked, his eyes concerned.

Din nodded jerkily.

"You took it off for your son." Boba said, frowning. "For your clan. Surely there are exceptions, around family, times when it's allowed."

"No." Din snapped, gripping his helmet tighter, his knuckles creaking. The beskar pressed into his fingers, the metal cool against his skin. He took a ragged breath, trying to pull air through his lungs. His legs shook violently. "I - I'm not supposed to take it off. Ever."

Boba said something, his voice distant through the rushing sound in Din's ears. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff, wind pushing him towards the drop. Panic clawed at his ribs.

I can't breathe. He thought, his mind fuzzy. His lungs burned with the effort of inhaling, his chest aching. Boba's voice echoed oddly in his skull, a distant vibration. I can't breathe.

He sucked in a breath, trying to stave off the panic. His heart thudded in his chest. Boba said something else, moving closer and circling his fingers around Din's wrist. The warmth of his touch was familiar by now, a reassuring pressure against Din's skin. It pulled Din out of his head, bringing him back to the present, the panic subsiding a little.

"Din?" Boba's voice was a little clearer now, his grip tightening on Din's wrist. "It's all right. Take a breath."

Din obeyed, taking a shallow breath through his teeth and closing his eyes.

"Again." Boba said, rubbing a thumb over Din's pulse point, his touch feather light. Din inhaled shakily, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

"Good." Boba murmured. Din opened his eyes and pulled out of Boba's grip, taking another few shallow breaths.

"I'm fine." He muttered. He couldn't look Boba in the eye. He felt twitchy, impossibly vulnerable with his face exposed.

"It's all right if you aren't." Boba said softly.

"I'm fine." Din repeated, staring at the helmet in his hands. He inhaled shakily, fixing his gaze on the blank visor.

"All right." Boba sounded skeptical, but he didn't press the issue.

They stood silently for several moments as Din wrestled his heartbeat under control, focusing on steadily inhaling and exhaling.

"I - I should have told you." Din said, looking up from his helmet. He met Boba's eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze to Boba's nose, the eye contact too difficult to bear.

"It's all right." Boba said. "I understand why you didn't."

His voice was too understanding, too gentle, and it made Din want to run and lean in at the same time, his body confused whether he wanted to hide or sway closer to Boba.

"Din?"

Boba frowned, his dark eyes filled with concern, his fingers twitching as if wanting to reach out and take Din's wrist again. Hopeless affection bloomed behind Din's ribs, desperate desire for Boba's touch mixing with the overwhelming guilt in the pit of his stomach.

Boba leaned in a little closer, and Din's heartbeat picked up, hammering in his chest. He swayed closer, every cell in his body aching to touch Boba, to press their foreheads together, their chests, their lips.

This is probably a bad idea. He thought distantly. But I don't care.

His heart racing, Din leaned forward and kissed Boba.

Boba's lips were dry and warm against his own, his nose brushing Din's. He opened his mouth slightly, making a soft, muffled sound of surprise. Din leaned in closer, dropping his helmet on the floor and reaching up to clutch Boba's chest plate with both hands, curling his fingers around the solid beskar.

Boba shifted a little, as if hesitating, before reaching up and placing his hands on either side of Din's jaw, his fingers brushing Din's cheeks. He stroked Din's cheekbone with a thumb, his touch so gentle and soft it made Din want to cry. He choked back a sob anyway, and Boba pulled back immediately, breaking the kiss. His hands were warm on Din's cheeks, his gaze so tender it almost hurt.

"Din." Boba said, his voice rough.

Din made a desperate sound in the back of his throat, swaying closer to Boba.

"Din." Boba said again. "Is this - you don't have to, if you - if you don't want to."

Din had never heard him sound so unsure, so hesitant, and he gripped Boba's armor tighter.

"I do." He said, his voice just as rough as Boba's. "I've never -"

His face tingled underneath Boba's hands, Boba's calloused fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his jaw. He felt exposed, vulnerable, stripped of the protection of his helmet. He'd never let anyone see him like this, had never stood this close to someone else without his helmet on, without that layer of beskar hiding his innermost thoughts, his deepest feelings.

Din had never kissed anyone before, had never felt anyone's lips on his own. But - but I want to. If it's with Boba - I want to.

Boba lowered his hands, his brow furrowed. "Din?"

Din met his eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion he saw there, the concern, the lingering warmth.

"What do you want?" Boba asked, his voice a low rasp, almost a whisper. He sounded nervous, hesitant in a way he had never been before, in all the time they had known each other.

He wants it too. Din realized, his heart beating wildly. Boba - he wants this. Wants me.

It was that realization that cleared away some of the lingering doubt, the shame he felt at having hidden the truth from Boba, the fear that he had ruined this friendship, this easy camaraderie, with his own selfish desires.

"I want you." Din said, nerves twisting in his stomach. "I want - I want you to kiss me."

Boba looked at him for a long moment, his eyes shining. He leaned in, cupping Din's face in his hands again, and smiled.

"Okay." He murmured, his voice rough, and leaned in, pressing his mouth to Din's.

Din kissed him back eagerly, grasping at the robes underneath Boba's armor and pulling him in closer, bumping their hips together. Boba hummed against his lips, kissing Din just as fiercely. He opened his mouth a little, his teeth snagging on Din's upper lip, and the sensation made heat pool in Din's belly. Boba nipped his lip softly, his chest heaving as he pressed in closer and closer. Din held on to Boba's robes just as desperately, his legs shaking, wild desire racing through his veins.

Finally, Boba broke the kiss, panting. Din took several gulping breaths, and leaned down to press their foreheads together, sighing in relief as Boba cupped the back of his neck with a calloused hand.

"Good?" Boba asked, his voice unsteady.

"Yeah." Din managed. "You?"

"Yeah." Boba traced the line of Din's jaw with his thumb, his fingers steady and gentle. "I - I've been wanting to do that for a while."

Din huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Me too."

Boba chuckled, stroking Din's cheek, his calluses rasping against Din's stubble. "And here I thought I'd have to keep offering a friendly cuddle until you realized."

"You -" Din pulled back, gaping at Boba indignantly. "This whole time? You've been - what, trying to - to -"

"Kiss you?" Boba shrugged, grinning. "I hoped. I wasn't sure if you were interested."

Din scowled, letting go of Boba's robes to whack him on the arm. "You told me you always cuddle with Shand!"

"Well, yes." Boba cleared his throat. "But I may have overstated how often we - uh, cuddle. We do, just not - just not that much."

Din scowled, muttering several Huttese curses under his breath.

Boba laughed, pressing a kiss to Din's cheek. "Sorry, sweetheart. What can I do to make it up to you?"

Despite his irritation, Din blushed, his heart kicked in his chest at the endearment. He ducked his head, the tips of his ears flushing bright red.

"Kiss me again." He murmured shyly, his cheeks burning.

Boba chuckled, his eyes sparkling with affection. "Happy to oblige."