pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6.6k

summary: The Dahls rise to mate.

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI! , Mando'a and English cursing, unprotected PiV sexual situations, non-con sexual situations

Din awoke the next morning the same way he had the previous morning: flat on his back, floating in a fragrant cloud of herbs and dried flowers. He slowly opened his eyes to see golden diffused sunlight streaming in angles across the dark curtains that surrounded him. A light breeze luffed the fabric panels, revealing triangles of bright sunshine. He felt warm from a deep, dreamless sleep that was restful rather than restless. He heard the clatter of a metal pot lid, the hiss of meat hitting a hot pan. He sat up, rolling his left shoulder that was always stiff upon waking up, the shoulder that would always make a hard click noise when he moved it. He tilted his head to the left side, then to the right, relishing the series of cracks his spine made, realizing that his usually sore back did not hurt at all this fine morning. Rolling to his feet, he parted the curtains, and looked down to see the carcass of a partially eviscerated dead furry animal of some sort on the floor.

Well, good morning to you too, he thought. He looked over to the fire to see Marathel cooking with her usual brisk efficiency. Grogu sat on the table, playing with what appeared to be some smooth stones. His gaze returned to the dead critter. "So . . . What happened here?"

Marathel took a quick glance over her shoulder. "The Dahls brought you a gift."

"This is their idea of a gift?"

"There were actually three of them. I've already got two skinned and gutted, but I thought you'd like to at least see one of them."

Din nudged the carcass with the toe of his boot. "What was this thing?"

"A gochgoch."

"Well, that tells me nothing."

Marathel shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, other than that's the noise they make, and they're not good for much other than dried meat." Din picked up the carcass between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it over to Marathel. He laid it on a wooden board on the counter where she had processed the other two critters. "You should feel very privileged. Dahls are not known for sharing food. You must have impressed them much."

"I'm sure that has more to do with Grogu than it has to do with me."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. He is easy to love. You, however . . ." She left the thought unfinished and went back to her cooking pots. "Are you hungry?"

"Not especially."

"Gochgoch guts too much for you?"

"No," Din said, turning to the table. "I just feel that I am being too idle and eating too much." He stacked three of the stones for Grogu to knock over. Grogu squealed. "Grogu, on the other hand . . . I sometimes worry that he does not have time to play. To be a child."

Marathel looked over her shoulder to see Din stroking the child's ear. Grogu purred with contentment, gazing up at his foster father. The sight tugged at her heart, reminding her that her own childhood was far different. A thought occurred to her. "Have you taught him how to fish?"

"Fish? Not yet." Din hadn't gone fishing in years. The idea was tempting.

"The boys here learn to fish and hunt. I sometimes fish myself, but I don't often have time." She rummaged around in her stack of baskets until she found her lengths of dry line and hooks. Within a few minutes, she had packed a bag with the fishing gear, some food, a jar of water, and a blanket. "This should work. If you keep going past the necessary, you will see a path. Follow that past my vegetable garden, and it will go down towards the sea. There is a river that feeds into it. There are tidal flats that Grogu will enjoy running on."

Din reached for the bag. Their fingertips touched. Time stopped for a moment. Din recovered first, taking the bag from her. "Bait?"

"I put some gochgoch meat in there. It should be enough for you to catch some bait."

"What will we be catching?"

"At this time of day? Probably just bait." Marathel shrugged with a smirk. "Do you have a knife in that basket of weapons?"

Din wasn't going to tell her he had a knife in his boot. Possibly two. "I have a knife."

"Then you're set. I must tend the garden, but I will come down later to make sure you don't get dragged away by the Great Godynferth."

Din tilted his helmet. "I assume there's a story there."

"Maybe you'll get to hear it. If you're lucky."

Din and Grogu followed Marathel's directions and found the tidal flats that she described. It seemed to be an ancient lava field that had flowed from the mountain where the Mist originated. The tide had gone out, leaving the tidal flats empty, save for the occasional low wave that spread out over the rocks. The river was a sizeable one that fed into the sea. Din talked Grogu through the process of tying a hook to the line, and how to bait it before casting the line into the river. After a few false starts – Grogu had thrown the entire line into the shallows a few times – Grogu toddled through the shallow water, dragging the line behind him, enticing small fish to nip on the gochgoch bait. Din found a long reed to use as a pole, cutting a slice to thread the line through the end, wrapping the line down the pole so that he could feel with his fingers if there were a bite on his line. Marathel was correct: they only caught the kind of fish that was good as bait. Grogu, of course, preferred to eat the fish, instead of allowing Din to cut them up. Then Grogu realized he could just levitate the little fish out of the water using the Force, abandoning the fishing line altogether. Din lost count of how many times he said put it down, Grogu as Grogu happily splashed in the water, surrounded by little flying fish. He eventually gave up and removed Grogu's robe and pants so he could play unencumbered. Din set his pole between two rocks beside him, in case he got a bite – and settled back against a large boulder to watch Grogu scamper over the tidal flats. The child brought Din little treasures: some pretty shells, a crab, a curled piece of driftwood. Din traded these for the bits of dried fruit and meat Marathel had packed for them and arranged the shells and driftwood on a large flat stone next to him, allowing the crab to scuttle away.

It was sometime later when he felt the ping of a small stone hitting the top of his helmet. "Wake up, Bounty Hunter."

"Wasn't sleeping." This was technically true. Resting his eyes was not sleeping.

Marathel came up beside him. She had a light wrap around her head and neck to keep the sun off her, and she carried a large basket of vegetables in one arm and a wooden rake over her shoulder. She looked out at Grogu. "Well, if that isn't the cutest little bare green bottom I've ever seen." She set down her load and sat down next to Din, stretching out her legs and crossing her dirty feet in front of her. "What did you catch?"

"Bait."

"Unfortunately, there's not much on this side of the Hold. They fish on the far side of the Hold, away from here. Big fish over there." She found the clay jar of water and took a long drink from it. "Your armor must keep you terribly warm."

Din shrugged. "The sun is always shining when you're wearing a metal helmet," he said sagely.

Marathel burst out laughing, finishing with a most unladylike snort that caused Grogu to turn to her. Upon seeing her, he ran towards her, giggling. He leapt into her lap for hugs, which Marathel was more than happy to give. She picked out a large orange berry-looking fruit from her basket and tore it in half, giving a piece to Grogu. Grogu relinquished the clam shell he had been playing with, took the fruit, and toddled back to the tide flat. Watching him go, she bit into her half of the fruit, juice dribbling down her chin. Din gazed at her while she wiped her chin with her sleeve. "How ever did such a charming child end up with the likes of you?"

Din turned his eyes back to Grogu. "He was a bounty. Some . . . very bad people wanted to cause him harm. I kept him with me instead of turning him over to the bad people."

Marathel frowned, trying to think of the words. "It was good of you to keep him safe, even though I do not understand what a bounty is, or why you hunt them."

"I do it for the money. It pays well enough." He didn't feel the need to discuss how dangerous it was.

"Money? I don't understand."

Din was not surprised in the least that she didn't know what money was. "When I find people, I receive a reward."

"So,a bounty has . . . worth?" Din nodded. "And when you bring me to the Hold, with the eggs . . . you will receive a reward?" He nodded again. "What is my worth?"

Din was silent for a moment. "I was offered 167 Ossum Aurodium coins for you."

"Is that a lot?"

"If they are in fact Aurodium, from Ossum, minted into coins, that would be worth an exceptional lot." Marathel looked down to her hands, dirty from digging in the dirt. She slipped them into her sleeves. The fact that The Bishop would offer a stranger from another planet what was apparently something so valuable for her . . . it added another layer of dread to her thoughts. So much for the thin thread of hope that The Bishop would forget that she existed. Her eyes drifted closed in despair. "What I don't understand, though," continued Din, "is . . . why . . . there would be Aurodium coins here." Marathel's eyes flashed open. That was not what she expected him to wonder about. "It doesn't make sense that this self-sustaining Hold you have here would have anything like Aurodium to trade or offer. You know nothing about the history of your planet, right? How your people got here?"

Marathel looked down to her knees. "No. Nothing. The Hold has always been there. The Elders have always been there."

Din was tapping his finger in irritation on one of the shells next to him. "The Elders." He turned to her. "Were you . . . betrothed to this Bishop? Why is it so important that you go back to him?"

Marathel opened her mouth to answer, but then closed it again. After a long time, she said, "I was . . . supposed to be a Whyn, but when Diwhyn Olba realized I could hear the Dahls when no one else could, she knew it was . . . safer for me to be out of the Hold."

Din turned to her. "That doesn't make sense to me either. And what is a Whyn? There's something more to it than just a girl who has grown up, isn't there?" Marathel lifted her head, but then her attention was suddenly and completely stolen from Din's words. He noticed that she was no longer listening to him but was focused on Grogu in amazement. He looked over to see Grogu levitating a tentacled creature, larger than he was, over his head. The creature was slowly twirling like a gyroscope.

"Frith in heaven," she breathed. "What . . . How . . ."

Din sighed. "Yeah, he does that too."

"He can . . . heal, and he can . . . lift things?"

"Grogu has powers with the Force. His people were Jedi."

Marathel frowned. "Magic, then?"

Din tilted his head. "Well, no, not magic at all. The Force is . . . an energy that flows through the universe, and certain people, they can . . . harness and use it. I don't understand it much myself."

"That must make your life interesting."

"It is an adventure."

They sat quietly for a long time. Din wanted to keep asking her questions, but when he turned to look at her, he saw such sadness in her face that he remained silent. She drew her legs under her to stand. "We should go, so that we are not caught out in the darkness. The Dahls are restless, and when they're restless . . . they can be dangerous." She walked out to collect Grogu, removing her headscarf to wrap around the little green body. Din pocketed the shells and driftwood and collected Marathel's basket and rake. She raised her head to look at him, standing on one hip, holding her basket like it weighed nothing, the rake over his shoulder, armor reflecting the sunlight. She felt a hitch in her heart, and then chided herself for thinking foolish thoughts. If only the straight-line path of her life could go in a different direction. She may be currently sidetracked, living Holdless as she was, but her future loomed larger as she heard the Dahls louder and louder in her head. Tired, Grogu's head clonked against her shoulder. She pressed her cheek to his, and a single tear dropped from her eye to land on his petal-soft ear. Grogu lifted a tiny hand to her mouth, which she kissed, and felt better.

It took a while to walk back. Marathel seemed to get more distracted as they walked along. She kept slowing her pace to gaze out over the distance. Sometimes she just stopped walking to close her eyes and take deep breaths. Din frowned at her under his helmet. Had he managed to upset her with his questions? Was she falling ill, or experiencing some after-effects from the Mist? He finally ended up walking ahead of her, depositing the heavy basket of vegetables in the kitchen, replacing the rake, and then meeting her back at the steps to collect Grogu. He took Grogu from her, headscarf and all, accidentally taking hold of her tunic as well. He muttered "Sorry," under his breath, but then kept out a hand for her to assist her up the steps, which surprised her. Surely, he didn't think I needed help to go up three steps? she thought. Still, she took his gloved hand, and he did give a slight pull on her as she ascended into the hut. Dropping her hand, Din unwound the wrap from Grogu. "He really should have a bath," he said. "Is it all right if I bathe Grogu in the sink?"

Marathel nodded. "Of course." She set about adding hot water to the reservoir, finding towels, bringing the jar of soap off its shelf. She noticed that Din kept his gloves on to bathe the child rather than remove them in her presence. As she chopped vegetables for dinner, she stole glances over to the sink on the other side of the hob, smiling as Din created stand-up curls of soapy hair on the green child's head. "You are a good parent to him, Bounty Hunter."

Din considered that high praise, coming from her. "I try." He poured a cup of water over Grogu's head. He didn't know why it was so easy to speak to this woman, but being around her loosened his tongue. "I wish my own parents had lived longer, so that I could have learned more about how to parent from them."

Marathel was immediately saddened. "You lost your parents when you were young? I am so sorry."

Din lifted Grogu out onto a fluffy towel. "A foundling raising a foundling seems appropriate. You probably got to grow up with your family in the Hold."

Marathel put her knife down. "I actually don't know who my mother is." Din paused in his drying of Grogu to look at her. "All the children are raised together in the Hold. All the Whyns who give birth raise all the children together. There are no families."

This struck Din as incredibly sad. In the covert, although the children were also all raised together as a village, each child who had parents in the covert knew who they were and lived in their family units. Even the foundlings had the fortune of being apprenticed to an adult Mandalorian who served as a foster parent. "Diwhyn Olba was not your mother?"

Marathel moved on to slicing meat. "She might have been. If she was, I never knew. She did not tell me."

"What of your father?"

Marathel stood still for a moment. "I know who my father is, yes." Her tone indicated to Din that she would not continue on this subject, and she returned to her slicing. Din went back to drying Grogu. Then he heard Marathel hiss, "Oh, for the love of Frith!" Din looked over to see that Marathel had cut her fingertip quite badly. He took a step towards her. "I'm fine!" she snapped, sticking her finger in her mouth. Din did not offer to help her again and dressed Grogu in clean clothes. She wrapped her finger with a bit of towel and began slamming things in the kitchen in irritation. She couldn't find the herbs she wanted; the meat cooked unevenly; the pot of grains boiled over. Din stayed silent, entertaining Grogu on the steps, giving her wide berth. She finally served the dinner, and Din fed Grogu on the steps. Grogu seemed to be happy about what she had made, but then Grogu would eat anything that would remotely be food. Din set Grogu down to run around the yard, and he brought the dish back to the kitchen. He saw Marathel sitting on the bench closest to the fire, her back to him, elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. He didn't want to raise her ire, so he placed the dish in the sink without a word, the clunks of his boots making his presence known. Marathel sat up and sighed. "Forgive me. I am . . . cranky."

"Naas baatir."

"And that means . . .?"

"'It is nothing.'"

"At any rate, thank you."

"Naas baatir."

She snickered at that and got up to make their late afternoon tea. His with a saucer, hers without. Din was already at his usual place on the steps; Marathel placed the tea at his hip and sat at her usual place on the other end of the steps. The late afternoon shadows were already creeping across the yard. Marathel held her mug in both hands, hunched over, her elbows on her knees. Her head was bobbing slightly as if she were hearing a staccato drumbeat in her head. Din watched her out of the corner of his eye as her thumbs began tapping on the edge of her mug. This went on for some time. He finally turned his head to ask what the shab was wrong with her, but she must have noticed his movement, as she turned her head and snapped, "It is . . . It is naas . . .Naas . . ."

"Naas baatir."

"Naas baatir. As you say." Marathel slammed her mug down on the step, launching herself into a standing position. She roughly ran her hands through her hair, piling it up on top of her head with her hands, then letting it fall. She closed her eyes and took a deep calming breath, before walking out to Grogu in the yard. Calmer now, she sat next to Grogu and began to weave the pile of flowers Grogu had picked into crowns and necklaces, all of which she draped over Grogu. By the time she was done, Grogu was twice his size, the floral crowns piled high on his head, bracelets from his shoulders to his hands, and so many necklaces only his eyes were visible above them. Grogu happily trotted off to show Din, who laughed, stood up and then bent into a deep and formal bow, proclaiming, "Your Majesty!" Marathel laughed too as Din picked up Grogu and held him high above his head, flowers falling and bouncing off his helmet. Din lowered the boy and tucked him into the crook of his arm. Marathel sat where she was, elbows wrapped around her knees, watching the armored man interact with tiny green child, her smile falling from her face. She closed her eyes and swallowed. The Dahls were getting noisy again in her head. She grimaced and looked out towards the tall grasslands, wondering how she was going to get through the night. Finally, she stood up and walked into the stream up to her ankles, the setting sun to her back, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, forcing herself to breathe as naturally as possible.

Din watched her as she stood ankle-deep in the cold stream, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath, the sunlight reflecting on her silver hair, turning it into a burnished gold color. Something was wrong with her; he knew that much. She had said the first day that eggs would be coming in four or five days, and this was day three of his time here. He decided that she was nervous about having to go to the Hold to deliver the eggs; it was more than obvious she feared The Bishop.

He felt Grogu growing heavier in his arms; the child had a long, exciting day, and the flowers were lulling him to sleep. Din carefully removed all the garlands from Grogu and made a bower of the floating pram, laying the dozing Grogu in the center of the flowers. "Sweet dreams, buddy," whispered Din as he shut the lid of the pram. He wondered for the briefest of moments if there might be insects in the flowers, then figured that Grogu could have a midnight snack if that were the case. By the time he looked up again, Marathel had left the yard. Looking around, he noticed that she was walking through the stream, past the hut and away, deep in her own thoughts. Din picked up the mugs and took the opportunity to lift his helmet enough to drink his tea, thinking that he needed to find out what herbs were in it before he left this planet. He put a little hot water in her mug of tea to warm it up, leaving it on the table. After a moment's thought he put the saucer over it. After another moment's thought he put one of the fallen flowers on top of the saucer. Then, worried that she might misconstrue the gesture, he removed the flower. He was standing there, overthinking a silly flower, when Marathel stepped back up onto the platform at the back corner. "What are you doing, Bounty, Hunter?"

His head snapped around as if she'd caught him stealing her entire stash of bread. "I, uh . . . warmed up your tea."

She stood there, staring at him silently, expressionless. She reached over, removed the saucer, and took the mug. "I think I will lie down. Excuse me." She turned and disappeared behind her curtains. Din glowered down at the little yellow flower in his hand, as if it were the source of his confusion and irritation. With a small sigh, he walked over to the steps the furthest away from her curtains as possible – as loudly as his steps could be, for her benefit - and sat down. After a while, Din tucked the little yellow flower away in the inner pocket that held the shells and driftwood from earlier that day. He leaned against the post, and stared into the sky as the stars began coming out, listening to the yip-yip-yehs of the Dahls in the far distance.

Marathel could not sleep. She could not relax. She tried to stay as quiet as possible, knowing that the Bounty Hunter was probably still awake and able to hear every move she made as the rushes in her sleeping tick crackled. Damn these rushes, she thought. Damn my desire to be comfortable. Right now, she wished for her worn-out pallet that she had in the Hold. It had been very thin, and she had felt every stone of the kitchen floor underneath it, but it didn't make any noise to announce that she was not sleeping. She rolled to her back, stretching her arms out, trying in vain to let her body receive any cool breeze it could, but the air was still, and the yip-yip-yehs of the Dahls carried easily in the night air, but they were even louder inside her head, reverberating with her heartbeats. With a soft grunt, she rolled to her feet, giving up on any kind of sleep. She left her curtains on the kitchen side, hoping not to attract attention. She wanted cool water, but all she had was what was left in the reservoir. The fire had gone out, but the water there was still too warm. it was too dark - even with the moonlight - to see if her hanging waterskin still held water, so she grabbed the small lantern that she kept above the dry sink, shaking it to wake up the glow worms inside, giving off a pale light.

It was the light source that made Din turn his head in her direction. He had been sitting quietly, still leaning against the post, facing her curtains. He had been listening to her toss and turn, and heard her get up. The floating pram was quiet. He was surprised to see that she had any kind of lantern. She lived like a farmer – up with the sunrise and down with the sunset. The lantern hardly gave off any light at all, and all he could really see was her outline as she held her hair on top of her head with one hand as she held a wet cloth to the back of her neck with the other. As his eyes dragged down her back, he could see that she was wearing a thin gown with a wrap over it. He stood, hoping not to startle her, his boots announcing his presence on the wooden plank floor. She took a quick look over her shoulder and dropped her hair, tossing her cloth on the counter. She moved down the counter and out of sight. He followed her. He turned to his left, just past her curtains, when he saw her leaning against a post, back to him. Her arms were wrapped around the post tightly as she hugged it.

Din crept closer. "What is wrong?"

Marathel gave a raspy sigh. "It's the Dahls."

Din stood quietly, listening to the cries of the Dahls. "They are very loud tonight."

She dropped her forehead to the post. "They're rising to mate."

"I see."

Marathlel's breath grew faster and more ragged. "I can hear them."

"I hear them too."

She shook her head vigorously. "No! I . . . hear them. Not just in here," she said, indicating her ears. "But here . . ." she put her hands on her head. "In here," her shaking hands crossed over her chest, and her wrap fell to the floor, leaving her only in a whisper of a nightgown. "And here . . ." her hands slid down her breasts to her belly.

Din took in her words, then breathed out, "Oh."

Marathel continued to pant. Her legs wrapped around the post, pulling herself close to it with a low moan. Din stepped forward and bent to retrieve her wrap. As he straightened up, Marathel suddenly leaned back, holding the post, and her spine met his beskar cuirass. Her head shot up with a gasp, and she immediately tried to press harder against him.

"I've . . . always been alone . . ." she cried.

Din stood motionless, holding her wrap with one hand. He closed his eyes tightly, knowing that he should back off, that he should leave her, that he should just take Grogu and walk off into the night, but then she dipped her knees, rubbing her backside against the front of his breeches, where he did not wear beskar. His eyes flew open, his penis twitching into life against his will. She mewled deep in her throat, grabbing at the cuisses he wore on his thighs, pressing her round buttocks harder against him. She turned around slowly, taking hold of whatever piece of armor or flight suit she could grab, pressing whatever part of her body she could against his, like a lohr-cat in heat. She scrabbled at his cuirass, pulling him towards her against the post, her teeth bared, her eyes gone dark and glazed, her breasts heaving against the thin fabric of her gown. Din grabbed at the post with the hand holding her wrap over her shoulder, his own breath growing ragged. He heard her growl as she clawed at his chest armor, breaking her fingernails. He reached up with his free hand to release the catches and the armor fell to the floor. She clutched at his flight suit, now exposed, and straddled his thigh, rubbing herself hard against the armor there, her own thigh pressed hard into his crotch as his erection grew. He automatically rutted against her thigh, pressing his whole body against hers, feeling the weight of her breasts against his flight suit. She quietly growled again, sliding her hips to his center, curling her spine, thrusting her pelvis against his, her barely covered vulva against his clothed tumescent cock, matching his rhythm. His knees were slightly bent to accommodate her, so she wrapped her own legs around his, placing her bare feet on the backs of his calves, and climbed him like a tree until her thighs were wrapped tightly around his ribs, continuing to thrust her hips against his, her arms clutched around his shoulders. Gasping, he reached under his helmet to rip his glove off his free hand with his teeth, and he reached between them, shuddering at her heat, her wetness, her unspoken pleading against the back of his bare hand. He could barely register the thought that he was touching her with his bare skin as he clumsily loosened his breeches and opened them enough to let his cock spring free, aching, desperate for her. He felt his tip touch her center, thinking that he should go slow into her, thinking that he should be gentle, thinking that she didn't have control of herself, when she dropped her chin, her dark eyes flashing at him, her teeth bared in a snarl, and she dropped her weight enough to impale herself onto him, forcing his cock as deep into her as it would go. She gave a small cry, throwing her head back against the post, her knees squeezing his ribs hard enough to break them, her thighs going into spasm as she immediately, powerfully, came. He felt the flutter of her quim against his cock, and he continued to thrust madly against her, pinning her to the post, his hand not holding the post clutching a cheek of her round, sweet, soft, ass, losing all control of his previous thoughts of gentility. Her thighs continued to squeeze, her quim continued to clutch, her cries continued to peal against his helmet, as she rode out not so much a series of orgasms as one long continuous one that seemed to ebb and flow as she moved her hips in counterpoint against his. With every thrust, Din grew weaker and weaker, the greyness that had been just around the very edges of vision growing stronger and stronger. Her return thrusts grew stronger and stronger against him, her quim clasping his cock as if she were sucking the very life out of it, and Din began to feel that he might just pass out before he came if she kept this up.

At that moment, she thrust her hips furiously against him, squeezing her thighs even harder than he had thought possible, rendering him motionless with a ragged cry before she dropped her chin against his chest, biting him hard through the flight suit as she trembled and fell apart at the peak of her long-riding orgasm. The pain of her teeth sinking into his chest sent him right over the edge, grunting, his hips spasming against her as he finally released into her. First spasm, second spasm, gasping against her shoulder as he willed his body to finish before he fell to the floor. He twitched his hips, he had more that he desperately needed to fill her with, when he sensed, he felt, her body change against his. Her gasps of frantic pleasure were now gasps of panic; he felt her whole body stiffen, her head drawing back against the post, her hands pressing against his chest with a need to escape as Marathel came back into herself, displacing the raw need of the mating Dahls that had just completely possessed her. All this happened in the tiniest of moments, but he needed a bit more time, so he kept her captive, whispering, "Wait, wait," into her ear, as he felt his pelvis and testicles clench. Third spasm. Marathel gasped. "Shhhhhhhh," he breathed. He grunted again as the fourth and last spasm finally went through him and into her. Marathel gasped again, this time with a little cry. "Shhhhhhhh", he whispered again. "You're okay. You're okay." He kept himself pressed against her, his upper arms holding her thighs against his sides, willing his breathing back to normal, as his erection faded. Her body was still completely tensed up, ready to spring away at the slightest opportunity. He slowly, carefully reached between them, the back of his hand touching her again, causing her to whimper as he removed himself from her, tucking his now-flaccid penis back in his breeches. He then used that same hand to gently remove her trembling left leg from his waist, carefully setting her foot back on the floor, smoothing down her nightgown against her thigh. He switched hands on the post, performing the same task with his other hand on her other leg. Still keeping her captive against the post, he pulled his head back to see her staring with wide eyes at his left pauldron. He took the wrap, miraculously still in his hand after all this, and carefully draped it over her shoulders, covering her front to grant her some modesty. He looked down at her. She continued to stare blankly at his pauldron. "Hey," he said softly. Her terrified eyes shifted to his helmet. "All right?" She nodded. He took a half-step back, turning his head so that he would not see her gown fall back down to her ankles. Finally released from his grasp, she turned and launched herself off the platform and into the night.

Din took one shaky breath, then a second, and then collapsed with his shoulder against the post. Dank ferrik, he thought weakly. It hurt his shoulder, but at that moment he was thankful for that damned post, otherwise he would have face-planted on the floor. He released the catches on his helmet and quickly pulled it off, feeling the cool air on his face and hair as sweat dripped into his eyes. He looked off to where Marathel had run and saw nothing. The lantern was much dimmer now, but he figured he didn't have much time before she came back. He went to the sink, grabbed the cloth she had used on her neck, resoaked it in the now-cool water from the reservoir, and quickly wiped his face, head, and neck before replacing his helmet. He took a quick glance over his shoulder and still didn't see her, so he quickly opened his breeches to clean himself up, making sure the cloth ended up in her dirty laundry basket. He replaced his glove and reached down to pick up his cuirass when the fabric of his flight suit dragged across his chest, reminding him that she had wounded him. He went to the lantern, which was now almost completely dimmed out. He gave it a shake as he had seen Marathel do, and the glow worms within glowed brightly again. He opened his vest to find that she had indeed bitten him rather badly. As he sought out a clean cloth and her jar of soap, he saw Marathel returning, clutching her wrap around her tightly. He turned his back to her so as not to expose the wound – or his bare chest - to her as he cleaned the bite mark. A ridiculous move, he thought, considering that they had just fucked like blood-hungry womp rats against a post, but he did it anyway. She climbed up on the platform, decidedly not looking at him, and went to the sink to wash her hands and brush her teeth. Glancing over his shoulder again at her bent form, he said, "You bit me."

She froze for a moment. "Is it bad?"

"It broke the skin."

"I, um. . ." Putting down her toothbrush, she reached up past his shoulder and brought down a jar that looked familiar. Her breasts brushed against the back of his flight suit, and she jumped back. "Use this salve. It will keep infection away." She went back to the sink and her toothbrush.

Din used the salve as directed and closed his flight suit. Lifting his cuirass over his shoulders he asked, "Does your cycle follow the Dahls' cycle?"

Marathel fell still again, and her face grew hot as she realized what he was asking her. She swallowed and said, "No. No, it does not."

Din nodded. "You should be okay anyway; I'm fixed."

"I'm sorry?"

Din clicked the last of the catches on his armor. "I'm shooting blanks."

Marathel softly said, "Oh," and went back to brushing her teeth. She didn't understand what he was talking about, but she knew that she did not have the courage to ask. She returned her toothbrush to its proper place. Din walked back to the floating pram, glad that it was still completely shut. He was not ready to have that conversation anytime soon. They each moved to their curtained partitions, but they both paused, both knowing that words were being left unsaid and both unsure if they would – or should - stay that way. Din turned to look at Marathel. Marathel had half-turned, but her eyes were downcast. She stammered, "I . . . good night," and escaped behind her curtains for the second time that night. The pale fabric fluttered closed. Din stepped behind his dark curtains and laid down, flat on his back, and linked his fingers together across his stomach. He blinked into the darkness and thought, Well, that was different.

Marathel sank down to a sitting position on her sleeping tick, staring off into space for a long time after the Bounty Hunter had fallen asleep. Over and over in her head she thought, dear Frith in heaven, what have I done?