I’m down astronomically bad

The sound of the sputtering of your car engine made you groan, your forehead bumping against the steering wheel in quite frustration. Overhead, raindrops pattered harshly against the top of your car like small marbles and you heard the way your wheels dug into the muddy roads. This was not the place you wanted to get stuck in.

"I told you we'd get stuck out here!" Your friend Sadie huffed in exasperation, throwing her hands up in defeat. "If we had just turned back and asked for directions," She trailed off, shooting a pointed glare at the two guys in the backseat, "We wouldn't be in this mess!"

Robbie - Sadie's long-term boyfriend, though you weren't exactly sure why, seeing as they argued more often then not - just scoffed at his girlfriend's frustrations. "Look, let's just get out of the car and fuckin' push, alright?"

"Can't," You sighed as you lifted your head up. "The front wheels are trapped in the mud. Pushin' will just get us more stuck."

"Well what the fuck else are we supposed to do?" Robbie shouted before swinging the door open and stomping out into the pouring rain, uncaring of how his hair and clothes quickly became soaked.

When he did, his friend who sat beside him - Leon, you think was his name - quickly shuffled out to join him. Leon was nicer than Robbie but was a bit of a pushover. This camping trip the four of you planned was mostly Sadie's attempts to pair you up with Leon despite both of your resistances on the matter.

"Honestly," Sadie sighed, "That guy just can't take no for an answer."

You hummed, disinterested in her latest "Robbie Rant" as you'd taken to calling them. "I still think this whole camping thing is a bad idea. Even if we'll be in a cabin." You weren't exactly enthusiastic at the idea of listening to Sadie argue with her boyfriend for a long weekend while you sat awkwardly next to Leon.

"Don't be such a downer," Sadie said as she poked your cheek with a pointy, baby blue nail. "The rain'll pass, babe. It always does."

When you heard the sound of your car door open, a blast of cold air hitting your body, you turned your head and were met with a worried look on Robbie's face. "Hey, uh, there's... some dude over here." He gestured with a thumb, arms crossed over his chest to try and protect himself from the chilled rain. "He's, uh, offerin' to tow us to the nearest town."

You perked your head up. "Oh! Sure, okay, yeah." Frankly you were just relieved the four of you weren't going to have to camp out in the car or, god forbid, walk through the rain and dark foresty area in hopes of finding civilization.

"Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited." Robbie mumbled as you poked your head out to look behind your car. "Dude's kinda weird."

A scrawny looking man stood slumped against a silver truck chatting to Leon, seemingly unbothered by the rain. When he caught your eye, he tilted his green cap in greeting and gave you a wide gap toothed smile as he made his way towards you. Outwardly, you didn't see anything wrong with him. Maybe a little scruffy but nothing outwardly strange. "Hey there," He said with such a heavy southern drawl it made your eyes feel droopy, "Saw y'all got stuck. I might be able 't tow ya back to town. It ain't far, but you folks'll probably wanna ride with me. 'Case stuff gets too bumpy."

You considered his offer for a moment. The idea of shelter was too tempting to ignore, however... "That's awfully kind of you," You said slowly, watching his smile soften into something more genuine, "What's the catch?"

"Ain't no catch, honest." He said as he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Robbie gave him a weird look but you ignored it, keeping your focus on the stranger. "Jus' happened to be in the neighborhood on my way back home. Saw y'all broke down 'n figured I'd lend a hand."

Your shoulders dropped slightly. As in most situations, you had to trust your gut. And your gut said that you could trust him. So you held out your hand to shake his, introducing yourself. "How close is this town?"

"Jus' a few miles back down this road here 'n a few left turns." The stranger offered a hand to help you out of your car and you flinched at the sight of thick mud below you. "'m Lester, by the way. Lester Sinclair." He said, noticing your apprehension at the dirt. "Ain't one for mud?" He gave a light laugh.

"Not if I can help it," You sighed. It wouldn't normally bother you but you hadn't worn shoes you could afford to get dirty. The storm had caught you all by surprise.

Before you could step out, Lester gave you a nudge. "Here, put'cher arms 'round me."

You flushed and stared at him with wide, confused eyes. He just gave you a grin as he hooked your knees in the crook of his elbow. "I- You don't have to- I can-" You stammered out nervously. Sure, you didn't really want to get your shoes dirty, but Lester didn't have to carry you!

"Up we go!" Lester said with a dramatic flair, causing you to shriek in terror as you were lifted out up of your seat. You clung to him tight to avoid falling into the mud and he gave you a little spin, making you bury your face into his shoulder as you begged him not to drop you.

The coat he wore was rough and the necklace he wore dug slightly into your skin. But he felt warm and alive and you felt his laugh more then you actually heard it. It felt strangely magical and the mere thought of that baffled you. What about this situation was remotely magical?

"Hey, put 'em the fuck down!" Robbie said. You'd honestly forgot he was there for a moment. But he stepped towards you two like he intended to yank you from the other man's arms like a toddler wanting its toy back.

Lester shot him a look before glancing down at you, as though silently asking if Robbie was bothering you. Like Lester himself wasn't the stranger in the situation. "Alrighty then. Why don't you grab the girl so we can get on outta here?" He said before carrying you back towards his truck without looking back.

When you saw the truck, you understood why Robbie and Leon looked so anxious about going inside. You could see what looked to be small animal bones dangling like strings of beads woven together with feathers and rough strings. They all looked very homemade but pretty in their own way. At least to you they were.

What really caught your attention was the deer skull sitting on the dashboard as the pride of place. "You hunt?" You asked Lester as he walked around to the passenger side door.

He noticed you eyeing the deer skull and shrugged. "That depends."

"Depends?"

"Well I gotta impress you, don't I? Ain't every day I get to carry some pretty thing to my truck. Can't letcha think 'm a bad guy if I do hunt." He said casually before gesturing to the door handle. "Can you grab that?"

You opened the door and let him set you on the seat, his words not quite registering as you focused on the skull, fingers grazing it but not quite touching. "I think it's cool," You said with a quiet awe. "I like taxidermy, so bones don't put me off."

Lester seemed surprised by that. You could hear the sounds of Robbie and Sadie arguing again - likely because he wasn't offering to carry her like Lester had done for you - but you hardly cared with him looking at you like that. Like he was swooning.

"So y'ain't gonna be bothered by the roadkill I got in the back?" He asked, leaning against the car door as you admired the bones hung around the interior.

"Nope. Not even a little. Do you make these yourself?" You asked, fingers dancing lightly down a particularly pretty string of feathers and bones.

Lester swallowed and nodded, a little breathless when he spoke. "Yeah. Yeah. Make 'em myself, yeah." He sounded a little nervous, trying to hide his excitement at your genuine interest. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna get yer car set up for towin' 'n whatnot. You alright if I borrow your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend." You shrugged before focusing back on him. "Much less Robbie. He's kind of a douchebag."

"You don't have a boyfriend?" Lester looked genuinely shocked.

You laughed a little. "You sound like my parents." Your tone was light, teasing, and a sharp contrast to the sudden hurricane that was Sadie climbing into the backseat of the truck, arguing loudly with Robbie. As suspected, he had not want to carry her and she had to walk.

You and Lester shared an exhausted look before he stepped away to get the cables to tow your car. Meanwhile, you tucked into the front seat, admiring every knickknack and oddity you could see. It felt almost cozy. Lester likely spent a lot of time in here to warrant such a comfortable, familiar space. He'd mentioned roadkill in the back of the truck so you figured he drove around for long hours picking it up.

He was utterly fascinating. You'd never met anyone like him.

"Dude, this guy is a freak," Sadie whisper-yelled to be heard over the rain as she slammed her door. You left the your own door open to enjoy the cool air a bit longer after being stuck in a stuffy car for the past four hours. "His car's full of dead things!" She hissed at you.

"Doesn't bother me." You said absently, far too focused on the skull again. It was in beautiful condition, clearly well taken care of. If Lester did really hunt, you hoped it was humane. But you reassured yourself that he didn't seem like someone who hated animals.

Sadie scoffed as she slumped in the backseat. The anger from her argument with Robbie was starting to leak into your conversation with her and it pissed you off. But you held your tongue, knowing better than to push her. "Yeah, I'm sure you don't mind your new weirdo boyfriend and his freaky shit." She laughed with a mocking tone. "Must be nice to meet some random fucking guy on the side of the road and he's soooo perfect and thoughtful and carries you to his car. Definitely matches your freak."

You ignored her.

It didn't take long for the guys to finish attaching your car to the truck and everyone piled in the truck, Lester closing his door with a dramatic flair and giving you a smile. "Alrighty, lets head on back. Town's just a couple minutes away." He said, making sure to take wide turns to avoid scratching up the car too much.

"Is there a hotel in town there?" Sadie asked, fidgeting with a strand of her wet hair.

"Yeah, should be. The inn ain't get much business this far out here so there oughta be rooms." Lester said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Where ya folks headed?"

When the three in the back said nothing, you spoke up after an awkward beat of silence. Just because your friends didn't like the dead things didn't mean Lester was a bad guy. "Headin' towards Arkansas. We've got a little cabin there that we want to stay at for a few days."

"Special occasion?" Lester asked curiously.

"Just a double date weekend." Sadie chimed in, smirking a bit in Leon and Robbie's direction. "We've been meaning to take a break together.

You flinched at the implication you were dating Leon. Lester seemed to notice that and gave you a reassuring smile. "Sounds fun." He said aloud, though you could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter. "Robbie, was it?"

"Yeah?"

"How long've you been dating 'em?" He tilted his head towards you, smiling at Robbie in the rearview mirror. "Hope I didn't give ya the wrong impression when I carried 'em over. I know you got defensive 'bout it 'n all."

The backseat erupted into absolute chaos. You turned to level Lester with an unimpressed look and the man had the audacity to give you an innocent little smile.

Jerk. You snorted, rolled your eyes, and turned your head to look out the window, watching the raindrops fall on the slightly fogged glass and the brush of the forest passing by in blurs of murky greens and browns.

Ambrose wasn't far, true to Lester's word. The town was small, only a few dozen houses and no major chain stores, much to Sadie's disappointment. Just little mom and pop type places. Lester towed your car to the nearby gas station outside the auto shop and you became suddenly aware of how empty the town felt. No one was outside but you didn't think it was because of the rain.

Your friends got out of the truck, eager to get away from the bones and the smell of rot, but you stayed in with Lester for a minute. "Where is everyone?"

"Hm?" Lester asked, looking innocently curious. "Whaddya mean?"

When he didn't say anything else, you just sighed. "Nevermind," you mumbled as you reached for the door.

"Wait." He said, his voice low. You turned to look at him and he seemed... guilty? He chewed nervously on his bottom lip before making a gesture to the glove box. "Open it."

So you did. Laying atop some piles of paper was a simple, silver pocketknife. "What the-?"

"In case." Lester said, pulling it out and handing it to you expectantly.

"In case of what?" You frowned as alarm bells began to ring in your head. "What do you mean?

Lester's eyes darted quickly over your shoulder before he looked back at you. You didn't get the chance to look over your shoulder when he reached up, cupping your face with one hand to keep your eyes on him. "I ain't- I ain't s'pposed to do this. Y'can't tell anyone."

"Tell anyone what?" Your fear must have been obvious at this point, seeing as Lester flinched.

"Look," he sighed, taking your hand and squeezing it in his own. "I can't- I wanna tell ya, believe me. But I ain't s'pposed to 'n it kills me." He looked genuinely sorry for whatever it was he was doing, which only scared you more. "But if ya take it, you'll be-"

A loud knock on the window made you scream, scooting away from the door with a look of terror, not even care that you practically slammed into Lester's chest as you threw yourself across the center console. Staring at you from the window was a man dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit with a baseball cap on. He opened the door without prompting and gave you a smile that made you feel greasy just looking at him. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." The stranger said with a warm tone. "'m name's Bo. I work at the autoshop here."

You introduced yourself cautiously, glancing out the windshield and noticing the way Sadie practically swooned over Bo while Robbie and Leon looked ready to punch the daylights out of this guy.

You didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"Pretty sure that's my brother you're sittin' on." Bo said with another acidic smile.

"Oh." You said, still pressed against Lester's side with no real interest in moving. The pocketknife was still clenched tightly in your fist and you still didn't feel safe.

Lester just laughed. "Aw, it ain't no problem Bo. We were chattin' 'bout their car actually. Might need ya to check it out, just in case."

Bo hazarded a glance at your car. "Yeah, alright, I'll take a look. Wanna come with me?" He asked, offering you his hand.

Everything in your body screamed at you to stay away from this guy.

"Actually Bo," Lester spoke up, your saving grace, "I was plannin' on chattin' 'bout taxidermy with 'em. If ya don't mind."

Bo did, in fact, seem to mind. His perfect facade seemed to flicker, an annoyed look passing his over his face as quick as it came. "Lester, ain't it a better idea for them to be here with their car?"

"I trust you!" You nearly yelled, grabbing your car keys and stuffing them into Bo's extended hand. "You seem like you know what you're doing! Any questions and you can ask Robbie, he's better with cars than me anyways."

You felt Lester relax when Bo just sighed loudly. "Alright, if you insist," He clutched the keys in his fist and the look he gave you made chills run down your spine. "Enjoy your date, lil' bro."

"Thanks man!" Lester said as Bo slammed the door shut, rattling the whole car. "You alright?" He asked softly once his older brother had stormed off in the direction of your friends.

You scooted back slightly to give him some space, sliding back into your actual seat. "I know he's your brother but... he's so..."

He laughed. "Aggressive? Yeah, he can be. Ain't his fault but it does make bringin' people here tricky." Lester said before gesturing out the window towards your friends, watching Sadie hang off Bo's every word. "Seems to work on your friends jus' fine."

"Not me." You hummed, watching the four of them go inside the auto shop. "I usually have a good read on people. And he's, uh, not good."

"Is that so?" Lester said softly. "Well, y'sure as hell got a good radar then. Figured him out real quick."

You gave Lester a glance, noting the somber look on his face. "What do you mean by it being safer to bring the knife?"

The man chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to mull his options over in his head. "I can't tell ya," He said slowly, "Because then I'd have to kill ya." When you laughed nervously, he just gave you a serious look. "'m serious. I ain't s'pposed to tell strangers what's goin' on."

Cold dread seemed to drench you instantly. "What?" You whispered in horror.

"I can tell ya if you promise not to do anythin' though." He soothed, taking your hand in his. He kept glancing over your shoulder as though expecting Bo to reappear at any moment. "If ya wanna know, you can't get involved."

"Just tell me!" You pleaded, the pocketknife still tight in your fist.

Lester sighed, letting go of your hand and staring out the window, letting the muffled sounds of rain pass through you two as though trying to literally clean the air. When he looked up at you, his eyes once again darting over your shoulder. He let out a soft gasp of surprise and fumbled to turn his car back on, letting it spur to life as you turned to look.

Robbie stumbled out of the auto shop, covered in blood and screaming. He was beelining for you, his screams drowned out by the car engine and the storm. You went to unlock the door but you watched the locks engage. Robbie yanked on the door handle frantically, screaming something about Bo having killed Leon.

But you didn't even have time to react as Lester threw the car in reverse and took off, leaving you horrified and confused. You rounded on him immediately. "We need to help!"

"I can't get involved!" Lester said, looking as panicky as you. "I- I ain't a fan of what they do either but I-" He stammered, torn between focusing on the road and trying to placate you.

"Did Bo kill Leon?!" You gasped in horror.

Lester gave you a helpless look. "I- Maybe? I- I dunno, he's killed a lotta people at this point." He squinted, trying to navigate the rain that began to streak across the windshield with how fast he was driving, obscuring a lot of the vision outside. "He 'n Vinny've been doin' this for ages now!"

"Doing- Doing what?!" You felt frantic, yanking on the car door with no real luck. What would you even do if it opened? Where could you go?

"Killin' people!" Lester said, slamming his hands on the steering wheel in frustration. "They've been killin' people and I don't get involved. 'n if you value your life, you shouldn't either."

He slammed hard on the breaks just before the front of the car slammed into a tree. The two of you let out a shared sigh and slumped over.

"'m sorry sweetpea." Lester said quietly, leaning against his steering wheel as exhaustion seemed to set in. "Was followin' y'all. 's how I found ya. Was gonna ship ya off to Bo 'n Vince but you were so..." He lifted his head to look at you with soft, glassy eyes. "'m so sorry."

You trembled, still breathing heavy. "Are you going to hurt me?"

"No." Lester's answer was immediate. "I ain't a killer. Not like my brothers are." He looked like he wanted to reach for you again, remorse clear on his face. "'m really sorry. Honest. I-"

"Are my friends going to die?" You asked, your voice warbling slightly. "Did- Did you just drive away from my dying friends?" He turned his head to look at you and gave you a slow nod. You let out a quiet gasp, scooting away from him until your back was up against the door. "Let me out! I need to go help them!"

Lester shook his head helplessly. "I can't. Bo's already seen ya 'n if you go after him, he'll kill ya too."

"Then why give me a knife?!"

"I just-" Lester sighed. "I just didn't want you to go down easy. Ain't no one ever escape my brothers. They're brutal 'n dedicated. I... I didn't want you to get hurt."

A lapse of silence passed between you two, the only sound coming from the rain. Lester buried his face back into his arms while you tried to come to terms with what you'd learnt. Lester's brothers abducted and killed people. And Lester had just served your friends up to Bo on a silver platter, but not you.

You had a knife, still clenched in your fist, and you could probably get the jump on Lester if you had to. You could steal his car and go rescue them or, at the very least, escape.

But you didn't want to hurt Lester...

"Why didn't you let me go with them?" You finally asked with a resigned sigh.

Lester looked up with tired, sad eyes. "Didn't want em to have ya. 'Cus you're a good, kind person 'n you trusted me. Felt like I was betraying ya. So I saw an openin' and I took it."

You nodded slowly. "So what now?"

"Well, ya got a few choices actually." Lester said as he straightened up. "You could go back. Try your luck against my brothers, try 'n save your friends. Or," He said with a shy glance your way, "You could come with me."

"Where would we go?"

Lester motioned out the windshield. "I got a lil' house in the woods nearby. We could hold down till the storm passes." Big brown eyes focused on you as he nervously wrung his hands. "I'd, uh, have to introduce you to my brothers in the morning. But I'd protect ya. Let 'em know you're with me now."

You felt your face heat up and you hated yourself for it. Your friends were being killed and the guy who led them to their deaths was making you blush like a schoolchild with a crush. You couldn't help it though. Lester was sweet, in the short time you'd met him. He didn't want to see you hurt and did what he could to protect you.

"With you?" You teased him with a wet chuckle. And your smile grew when you saw the way the tips of Lester's ears burned with how hard he blushed.

He gave you a shy nod. "Y-yeah. If you're with me, then- then they won't bother ya. Not killable anymore." You reached over and took his hands gently, uncaring of the dirt and roughness there. "You couldn't leave though."

A sigh left your lips. "I either stay or die?"

Lester looked close to tears when he nodded. "'m really sorry, sweetpea, I really am. Should'a never gone after ya." He freed one of his hands to cup your face gently, his touch soft despite the roughness of his hands and the guilt in his eyes.

You two sat there for awhile before you nodded, swallowing back a sob of your own. "Okay," You sighed, "Okay, I'll go with you."

He gave you a look of utter relief, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll keep ya safe, sweetpea. I promise."

At this point, it’s comfortable for him. The surrounding setting has become a place he prefers, an establishment he can relax in. Above all other patrons, Paz and his brothers were favored. The owner respected the creed, and that respect also radiated to the employees. Whatever the Mandalorians needed, the owner gave. There was also the small expectation of protection that came with this type of treatment that the Mandalorians were more than happy to provide. But tonight, Paz didn’t have anything like that on his mind. 

When he first began to frequent this place, the lights and music were easily overbearing. It became difficult to see at times and this coupled with the loud sounds disoriented him. This, on top of the drinks being served, dulled his senses. But these drinks also helped to calm him, and arouse him. 

Instantly, he’s greeted by multiple women working this particular night. Their pretty smiles, the way they nibble their lips and reach for his pauldrons, it did wonders to him. How amazing it was to be so utterly wanted, and wanted by many. 

“Hey, Big Blue.” One woman greets, grinning up at him. 

Glancing down, his head rolls to the side a bit, hand coming up to gently tap her chin. She always was so flirtatious. 

“Elara.” He returns kindly, that deep voice shivering down her spine. She knows all too well the type of pleasure he can bring. 

“You sound tired,” She pouts, running a hand down the armor covering his chest. “Why don’t you come relax with me?”

Beneath his Beskar, he grins. “Let me get a drink.”

Her moue expression does nothing to stop him as he walks off, sure that she’ll return to her stage. When he’s ready, he’ll come find her. But for now, he wants to watch. 

This was something relatively new to him, these voyeuristic tendencies. It only began when he entered the club, and never occurred outside of it. The dancers here didn’t just strip, they were usually active with each other, too. Seeing two women kiss, touch each other, it made his body run wild. And within the club’s private rooms, he’s even had women touch themselves in front of him. That was something incredibly new for him. He never was one to have sex with multiple women at once; when he was ready to take someone back to a room, it’d always be just one. But on the stage? He loved watching those women interact with each other. 

Free of payment, as usual, Paz grabs his choice drink before walking toward the area where the women perform. Usually, he’ll drink it in private before engaging with one of the girls. With a short grunt, he takes a seat, spreading his legs and leaning back against the comfortable chair. 

Tonight, he can identify each woman by name. Helia and Vega, two dancers who frequently touched each other, Nova, with her long brown hair and curvy body, Trina’s gorgeous red hair and tight body. And then there were his favorites, girls he’s taken in private rooms many times. Venus, Cybele, and of course, Elara. It’s been years since a new girl has appeared, but it’s not like he minds.

He can feel his heartbeat rise as he watches with intent, Nova eyeing him as she dances. Sliding down the pole, she spreads her legs for him, trailing a hand down her thigh. Visibly, his head tilts in her direction, breaths becoming deep as he eyes the dainty piece of fabric keeping her modesty. It’s been quite some time since he pulled her aside, maybe she’ll be the one for him tonight. But this thought is fleeting, his attention now turning to the back curtains. Venus appears from behind the shades, grinning brightly with a certain excitement jumping through her veins. And then, she’s turning back around, reaching through the drapes of fabric to pull on a small pair of hands. 

And then, you.

Paz has never seen you before. 

Immediately, he’s intrigued, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. You look heavenly, so feminine and sweet. He’s already imagining your taste to be just as pleasant. The way your body wears your little costume, it’s taking his fucking breath away. The top holding your breasts together crosses over your chest, looping up around your neck. And leading his eyes down the path to your cleavage is a thin, silver chain long enough to touch your ribs. Thin fabric is looped around your hips, holding up a longer cloth that drapes between your legs. A teasing piece of fabric, incredibly thin, but just enough to hide your sex. Two silver chains also hang around your attractive waist, twinkling beneath the stage’s many lights as you sway. 

Paz has yet to see a woman in this space wear something like this, and he’s sure no one would wear it as well as you; nobody here has your body type, and he’s already dying for a taste of it. The pieces cradling your plump breasts and what he’s sure to be heaven between your legs, are almost like petals to him. Petals covering the true beauty of the newest and brightest flower. One he’s ready to pluck from the garden. 

In what appears to be a comforting gesture, Venus brings you in, cupping your face as she delivers a graceful kiss. Instantly, Paz feels himself fully harden, adjusting his position as he takes in a heavy breath. He watches as you smile against her lips, hands lifting to her upper chest, sliding down along her breasts. As you trail down her body, Paz witnesses you squeeze her chest, and outwardly groans from it. And when your hands land on her hips, curling around to cup her ass, he all but loses it. 

“Ready for me?” 

Turning, he’s forced out of his sultry haze as he now faces Elara once again. 

“Who is that?” He asks, avoiding her question. 

Pointing in your direction, Elara follows his hand, sighing dramatically as she rolls her eyes. Hands on her hips, she stares at him. “Of course, you want the new girl.”

“How could I not?” Easily, his visor returns to you. “Where did you find her?”

Watching the way you kiss Venus, your tongue sliding out as she leads you toward the center of the stage, Elara releases another breath. “Coruscant.”

“There’s no way you found her on Coruscant.” Paz scoffs, eyes unwavering.

“We did!” She claims, continuing with, “But she’s originally from Naboo.”

“There we go.” Paz responds smugly. “That makes much more sense.” 

“So… you want her?”

“Fuck yes.” His response is instant, voice full of lust and anticipation. But then, his tone becomes stern, authoritative and demanding. “Bring her to me.”

For as demanding and cocky as he was, the girls were surprisingly taken with Paz. Maybe it had something to do with his height, his large body, his bulging muscles, his heroic armor. 

As you reach for the nearest poll, Elara hops up onto the stage. While approaching you, she watches as you slide onto it with ease, your lean muscles flexing as you move over the smooth, tall metal. And beneath his Beskar cover, Paz is wetting his lips at the sight of it, the sight of you. The way you dance is elegant, seductive, swaying your hips to each note swirling through the club’s current song. 

When the older woman walks up to you, she easily grabs your attention. Leaning in with a smirk, she whispers into your ear. And then, your eyes are flickering over to him, going wide before a bashful smile takes over your pretty features. And then, Paz sees you blush. Oh maker, he’s going to wreck you. 

Elara speaks to you again, her mouth moving though Paz can hear none of her words. Turning back in her direction, your smile doesn’t leave, now nodding eagerly. There it is, he has you.

Observing you from a distance, Paz soon sees you close that gap. Slowly, you make your way down the stage steps, strutting languidly in his direction. And as you make your way over, he eyes every inch of you, taking his time roaming your body. He can’t wait to feel you pressed up against him, grinding over his lap, your pretty face just inches from him. 

“Hi,” Your demure nature only serves to heighten his want for you. “The girls say you’re interested in me.” 

“Very much so.” Exhaling the words, he leans back in his chair, arms resting up on either side of him. 

An air of confidence just radiates from him, his large stature quite intimidating. But not daunting. And as you move closer to him, the excitement of it all continues to heighten. Standing between his spread legs, you lean in, hands resting on his pauldrons as you begin to situate yourself over him. 

“I’ve never had a Mandalorian before.” And that admission sends him. 

“I’ve never had you before.” He easily returns, voice airy and raspy. 

While climbing onto his lap, Paz restrains himself from moving, allowing you to get comfortable on him. Your knees bend, resting on either side of his hips as you situate yourself, hands sliding down to his chest once you’re settled. 

“Guess we’ll both have a first tonight.” 

Mere inches away, your chest now rests before him, taunting him. Your thighs tighten on either side of him, now lifting yourself to grind over his crotch. The action is slow and soft, gentle, hips swaying in graceful circles while your pretty face holds that enticing grin. 

“Can I have your name?” Your voice is sweet as you say it, hands rising to either side of his helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, this man’s hands are on your own, quickly dropping his drink onto the side table. Paz witnesses your movement pause, your face full of caution. Amidst his bruising grip, the Mandlorian’s low voice rumbles, “The helmet stays on.” 

At this, he expects you to run, to curl in on yourself and completely regret the action. It’s happened with the other women here, they all reacted that way when it first happened, before they got… used to him. And it’s not that he meant to scare you, it was just his natural reflex.

To Paz’s utter shock, you smirk, leaning in to kiss the space you’re sure his lips are beneath his outer, metal skin. And it fucking melts him. At this very moment, he knows all you want to do is please him. With his chest tightening, his fingers do the opposite, loosening their hold on your much smaller wrists. 

“So,” Returning to your seated position, you wiggle your hips over him, grinding your bare clit down onto his codpiece. “Your name?”

He’s genuinely stunned by your casual response, but takes it in stride, nonetheless. For a beat, he thinks on this name business. No one here knows his name, not the girls, not the owner, no one. And honestly, nobody’s ever cared to ask. Mando was tossed around to pretty much every Mandalorian to ever walk a planet’s surface. 

“Verd.” He finally decides on, wanting to give you an actual name. Although, the Mando’a word isn’t exactly a name, more of a title. But it’ll do for this scenario. 

“Verd.” Repeating the word only prompts your grin to grow, hips rolling over his. “I like it.” 

When you repeat the word, something is set alight within him. Hearing you speak Mando’a makes his pulse quicken, his throat running dry while he watches you dance. And suddenly, he feels your hands on his own, guiding them toward your angelic body. Even though his gloves are rough and worn, in desperate need of conditioning, you place them on your hips. Inside, Paz’s heart pounds against his ribs; he wants to explore you further.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

“Will you let me?” He questions in response, fingers tightening ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

As soon as you say it, his hands are on your ass, fingers pushing aside the cloth to grab at your bare skin. It makes you gasp, feeling him haul you forward, shoving you back and forth over his lap. Appearing strong wasn’t any type of facade with him; Paz’s muscles were clearly capable of moving you in whatever way he wanted. And you move with him, leveraging yourself on his shoulders while rubbing your chest against his. Your breasts press against the smooth firmness of his armor, head dropping down to the cowl around his neck. 

“I want to see you…” Breathily, you beg for him. “Some of you… can I?”

Paz can feel your fingers fumbling around the cloth, slow and careful as you wait for his answer. Disrespecting someone’s religion or creed was never a trait you harbored. 

Swallowed thickly, he decides yes. “Yes, you can.”

Once he gives you permission, you find a loose piece of fabric, pulling it down to expose his skin. Leaning in, you press your lips to him, tongue poking out to drag a simple, sultry lick. And the way he groans makes you feel like you’re on fire, his head tilting back when you bite into him.

“Mm… pretty thing.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Curling into him with a bashful grin, you giggle, the sound flowing through him. 

“Gorgeous.” He grunts, flattening his feet on the ground as he grinds up into you. Although, he can’t feel much through his codpiece. He’s going to need a room with you. “Perfect body…” 

Leaning upright again, you sigh, taking both of his hands away from your ass and lifting them up to your chest. Lazily, his head lolls to the side, chestplate rising and falling with vigor as you guide him to cup your breasts. 

“Fuck…” Squeezing them with a groan, his helmet moves side to side. “Tell me what you like.”

“You.”

“Yeah?”

Nibbling on your lip, you nod. “Yeah… big, tall…” And then you’re reaching for his arm, hand sliding down his bicep. “Strong.” 

With a disbelieved scoff, Paz questions, “When the hell did you get here, huh? How the fuck did I miss you?”

“You haven’t missed anything; it’s my first night.” 

Again, that familiar shiver down his spine. It prompts him to further massage your chest, head tilted up as he admires you.

“Is this your drink?”

Turning to the side, he eyes his still-full glass. “Yes.”

“Not too thirsty?” 

This small observation provokes a certain thought in his mind. Reaching for it, he hums thoughtfully, lifting it to your lips. “Drink it.”

And you do so without hesitation.

While Paz holds the drink up to your mouth, his free hand continues to touch your glorious chest, trailing down the center of it and through your cleavage. 

“Yes…” Listening so well already. 

“Maybe I can return the favor sometime.” Comes your suggestive response, watching as he sets the glass down once again.

“Not likely, sarad’ika.” He replies, easily dismissing your comment. (Little flower)

“Hm… I like the way you speak.” 

But then, all too abruptly, you’re standing. Rising from his lap, you take one last look at him. 

“Maybe I can hear it again sometime.” 

*

*

*

The way you left Paz had him wanting for more, and that’s exactly what you were going for. Throughout the night, you watch as the other dancers approach him, wanting to rub themselves over his armor and sit on his large lap, not dissimilar in the way you moved with him. To your surprise, though, he was having none of that. He spent his time watching you.

After you left him, he approached the bar once again. Ordering another glass of his favorite liquor, he then went to a private hall to down it. Here, he eyed the back rooms, listening to the gentle moans already flowing from the intimate spaces. He thought about what you’d do in those rooms, what he could do to you. He’d kill to see you naked, watch your tiny little fingers slither down to your sex, parting your lips for him, rubbing yourself for him. He imagines you’d spread your legs wide before coming to sit on his lap, riding his cock until he painted your insides white, staining you with his remnants. 

He could feel it in his veins. He needed to have you, and he needed to have you tonight.

Returning to the center hall, his eyes immediately find you. Multiple men watch as you dance, some of them his own brothers, too. You’re sliding down one of the poles, leaning back against it as you squat and spread your legs. And then, one of your hands is sliding down through your hair, over your shoulder, and onto your breasts. 

Taking his seat, your warrior watches as another girl brings you to her lips. Holding your cheeks, she kisses you, your hands lifting to touch her chest. He can see the way your thumbs stroke her barely covered nipples, the way you prop up your thigh between her legs. And when your tongue lays out, he finds himself wishing for a kiss. He’d love to feel your lips, your tongue, and on any part of him. Maybe tonight, you’ll be gracious. 

All at once, you’re making him feel special, walking in his direction with your eyes on that intimidatingly dark visor. Staring into his eyes, into his goddamn soul, you squat down, thighs parted as your hand lowers to rub yourself. 

Did she read my fucking mind?

Promptly, he stands, turning to find the owner. With his sudden movement, you’re worried you did something wrong. It dulls the excitement of the night for you, watching him strut off down the hall again. 

But once he’s in the office, he’s dropping a sack of Republic credits onto the desk. 

“I want her.”

“Who?”

“Your newest girl.” Paz presents with confidence. 

“You don’t have to -”

“I want to pay for her.” He insists, knowing you deserve it. “I’ll be in room six.” A lucky number of his. 

“How quick?” The owner calls out after him, listening to Paz’s gruff, “Quick.” 

Again, Elara is tasked with pulling you aside. And your internal excitement is once again set ablaze. Knowing you didn’t scare him off makes your smile glow, your stomach fluttering with butterflies. And now, he wants a private room with you? Maker, you can’t get to that room quick enough.

“He’s already there.”

“In room six.” She smirks, hands finding her hips. “What do you think?”

“Are you kidding?” Baffled she’d even ask, you scoff. “Of course I’m going!”

“He’ll be quite a treat.” Your coworker offers a knowing look, with only a pinch of jealousy. “Have fun.” 

“Wait,” Reaching out for her arm, your shyness appears once again. “What, um, what is he like?”

Instantly, her smile blossoms. “Demanding, and rough.”

A wave of anticipation rushes through your limbs, tongue poking out to timidly lick your lower lip.

“And he likes when you show off a bit.”

With that, she’s leaving, returning to her place on stage to satisfy the other men in the crowd. You wonder what that means, showing off, but you’re sure to find out. The only place you can go to now, is room number six.

There is power in this, you do have a choice. You know exactly what goes on in those rooms, and if you didn't want that, you’re more than allowed to reject him. The owner made sure of this; the safety and comfortability of his employees were among his top priorities. But honestly, you’d be a fool to reject this. To not enter this room, to not indulge carelessly in this man… would be a genuine waste. 

The club’s rhythmic sounds begin to fade as you walk throughout the establishment, making your way to the back hall. The curtain covering room six’s opening has been pushed to the side, its warm yellow hue pooling into the dark corridor. He’s expecting you. And with each step, you can feel your excitement, can feel the rush of adrenaline in your veins, your ears ringing with a wild heartbeat. You’re meeting with a man you met mere hours ago, and you’re going to let him take you. 

“Hi again,” With a cheeky grin, you tilt your head, eyeing the large, blue man.

That visor of his noticeably tips, analyzing your stance. The way your hips sway could convey nervousness, or excitement. And he chooses the latter, that grin of yours exposing your playfulness. 

“Will you join me?” 

The tips of your teeth find the thin skin of your lip, nodding as you step in. But only once or twice, just enough to be inside. Your timid nature entices him, your innocence. 

Standing, this bulk of a man makes his way over to you. Reaching out, the warrior’s gaze holds your own as he closes the curtain, sealing off the room. And his towering form, that stoic expression, steals every word from your lips. It seems all you can do is stand beside him, watching his every advance. 

With gentle motions, Paz undoes and removes his codpiece, revealing to you the black underclothes that lie beneath. The immediate movement of your eyes, and the quick expression you give, flatter him. Beneath the metal mask, he proudly grins, a single hand dropping to grip the tent you’ve given him. But before you can even truly admire him, he’s turning, walking back to the wide couch so he can take his seat once again.

“Come.” He then commands, voice soft but stern. Patting his thigh, he completes his request with, “Show me what you can do.”

His words offer encouragement, power, traits you snatch from the air as you approach him with interest. And once you’re close enough, his dominant hand reaches out to you, finding the delicate slope of your waist. But you reject this small advance, turning in his grasp. With your back facing him, you sit, sliding your backside along his lap. 

All too easily, those covered eyes watch your hands. Slender fingers begin to undo the top tied around your neck, exposing your breasts once it falls. With a huff of arousal, he leans forward, pressing his armored chest to your back while reaching for your breasts. Warm, smooth metal presses to your cheek as he fists your tits in both hands, visor peering over your shoulder to gawk at them. And then he releases a groan, a sound that quickly turns into a growl.

Rough, just like Elara said.

A gasp escapes you when you’re pulled backwards, this warrior now resting back against the couch. Both of those meaty arms stay wrapped around you, gloved fingers plucking at your perked buds. And then, one is leaving, lowering to loop behind your knee so he can pull your leg up.

“Show me.” He demands breathily, voice already ragged. “Show me how you like to be touched.” Slinking your legs over his knees, he parts them wider, only a single piece of cloth hiding your most sacred parts. 

“I like how you’re touching me.” Smirking devilishly, your eyes close, body squirming on his lap as he rubs your chest. But then, his most dominant hand is grabbing your wrist and yanking it down between your legs.

“I said show me.”

Demanding.

“Verd…” And for a moment, he’s confused. That is, until he remembers the name he’d given you.

“Ner verd.” Paz corrects, “Say it that way.”

Without question, you do, wanting to satisfy him. “Ner verd…” (My warrior…) 

And for some reason, the fact that you don’t even know what you’re saying excites him that much more.

Leaning over your shoulder, he watches with hunger as you pull aside the last remaining piece of fabric. Though, he can’t see as much as he’d like at this angle; in the past, he’d had women sit across from him on this couch. Paz would have them spread their legs, exposing themselves to him while demanding they get themselves off for his entertainment. And when they were done, he’d run a hand down their sex, fingers playing with their overstimulated lips. Later, in the privacy of his own home, he’d taste it. And regardless of your current position, he knows he’ll do the same with you. 

“That’s it…” Now, he approves, watching two little fingers tap against your clit. “Beautiful, sarad’ika.” (Little flower)

With a small, confident chuckle, you continue, the two of you watching as you pleasure yourself. Both of Paz’s hands stay on your chest while you do it, covered eyes witnessing the way you rub your reddened bud, the way your fingers play with your lips. 

“You’re a teasing thing, aren’t you?” He hums, helmet rubbing against you softly. Giving you a single nod, he then suggests, “Tap it again… I love to see you twitch.”

On command, you do as he says, chest rising and falling beneath his hands. And the blue warrior groans when he sees it, this ginormous man shifting beneath you. 

“Yes,” Paz huffs harshly in your ear, adrenaline and arousal mixing within his body. “You listen perfectly.”

“Baby…” It comes out as a whine, and it drives him wild inside. 

“Pretty thing,” He hums contemplatively. “Pretty noises.”

“Touch me,” Unexpectedly, you begin to beg, turning your face to look at him. It’s as if the anticipation building inside your chest has burst, body unable to harbor any remnants. “Please.”

“Oh…” Regardless of whether or not you’re aware, Paz holds your gaze, lowering a hand from where he’d been massaging your breast. “Like this, mesh’la?” He inquires, entirely sarcastic as he knows this is the spot, he knows this is just what you like. (Beautiful)

“Yes,” Arching back against him, your hips thrust up into his touch. While reaching for his forearm, he begins to rub you faster, listening to the soft squelch your center begins to emit. “Yes - yes.”

Writhing in his arms like a fish from the sea, you’re surrounded by nothing but blue, fiercely entrancing blue. Every sound you make goes straight through him, radiating into his chest, his pelvis, the throbbing shaft between his legs. Collectively, your actions brew a sense of pride in his belly, knowing he’s brought this out of you. Like a seductive siren, you’re singing a song, reaching out to consume him entirely. 

“Maker, you moan like such a fucking whore.” Spitting the words through gritted teeth, he grunts behind you, the tips of his fingers rubbing through your entrance. The hand still on your chest, grabs at you firmly, metal face pressing against your flesh. Oh, how desperate he is for it, for touch. You can see it so clearly, and you wish he’d let you give it to him. 

“Ner verd…” Gloved fingers brush over the peak of your breast, caressing the pebbled flesh. “Let me touch you, please.” (My warrior…)

“Come here,” Paz complies, finding a new weak spot with this name.

Strong hands gravitate to your hips, guiding you up from his lap. Moving with his momentum, you turn, completely naked for him. And to his utter shock, he pauses, breath caught in his throat. While his face is hidden, you can practically feel his amazement, one hand sliding up to caress your stomach. 

“Just like that,” He coos quietly, admiring your advancement in the absence of his own. “Get on top of me.”

Settling over his broad thighs, your hands find his helmet, bringing him in. Unknowingly, you offer an incredibly intimate sentiment; you touch your forehead to his. It’s as close to a kiss as Paz is going to get, as close as he’s ever come to it. 

“Please…” Dominant hand grazing his metal chest, it follows a line down to his pelvis. And when you settle over his lap, finally palming the stiffness of him, his hold on you tightens.

Harshly, thick fingers dig into your skin, his hips rocking up into your hand while releasing a soft moan. Something tingles inside your belly, listening to this gentle sound. Not a grunt or harsh groan, but a sweet release of breath.

“Hm…” Lips quirking into a grin, you express to him, “I want it.”

With bated breath, you wait for him, now feeling a particular wetness seep through beneath your hand. The moment stills, seconds now confused with centuries. Though, it’s not agonizing, this wait; it’s thrilling. 

The pads of his covered digits then rub circles along your skin, his chest dipping with a breath as he finally says, “Then take it.”

Nimble movements unzip his covering, length hot and stiff against the knuckles of your hand. Without losing his gaze, your fingers move to his base, slowly sliding around his girth and feeling the coarse hair littering his skin. Paz’s own hands move, too, still on your hips as he helps lift you above him. Resting up on your knees, the two of you glance down, eyeing the treats you’ve each been given. 

Helmet tilting up, Paz grins upon seeing your amazed expression. You’ve never seen a man like this, so veiny and thick, tip bulging and prominently crimson. The hairs around his shaft and base are damp, from either sweat or prespend but truthfully, you’re hoping for a mixture of them. You can practically smell it, him, his sweat and natural musk taking over your senses. And your mouth waters from it, wishing desperately to crawl down his body so you can put your lips on him. 

“Sarad’ika,” Paz calls gently, finger prodding beneath your chin and tilting it up toward him. “Don’t make me wait.” (Little flower)

“Can I…” Trailing off, your gaze lowers again. Paz sees the way you lick your lower lip, the way your eyes widen from the sight of him.

With a chuckle, he encourages you. “Be my guest.”

Once he allows it, you scramble down from his lap, falling to your knees while settling between his. Mesmerizing is the look in your eyes, eager is the movement of your lips. Leaning in, you’re immediately licking him, tongue flattening as it drags up the underside of his cock. It surprises him, just how quick you are with it, a startled gasp easily spilling from his lips. And while your mouth begins to pleasure him, your hand pumps the rest of his leaking length. 

“Perfect…”

Pulling back, your hand slides up, thickest digit thumbing over his slit. It forces a jolt of pleasure through him, a single hand coming down to grab the back of your head. The other, however, falls to his base. 

“You like this?” He asks lowly, stroking himself. And when you nod, curiosity overtakes him again. “What about this?”

Smacking his dick against your mouth, he watches you moan. Those gorgeous eyes of yours flutter closed, lips parting as  he continues. 

“I like it…” Grumbling, the timbre of his voice prompts a small wave of pleasure to rush through your hips. “Just like that, smacking it against your pretty doll face.”

Truthfully, you’d stay like this as long as he asked. On your knees between his spread legs, naked body on display while he tapped his dick against your face. Some taps are harder than others, and then there were softer hits, ones that allowed him to smear his precum over your lips. 

“Take it.” Applying pressure to the back of your head, he guides you onto him once again. “Ngh, ri-right there, right down your throat.”

The ridges of your tastebuds can feel every inch of him, every vein that throbs beneath the weight of your tongue. And now, he feels himself fully thicken within the hot cavern of your mouth. But you can’t take the entirety of him; all around, he was more than sizable, his width stretching your lips to your limits. Already your jaw aches, and he hasn’t even started thrusting yet. Simply, he holds you there, keeps you pressed as far down as you’re willing to go. As the seconds pass, you can hear him grumble, hand petting lovingly at your hair. Violently, he throbs against the hot suction of your mouth, his tip entering your throat. Every pulse that runs through his erection is powerful, the pound against your mouth prompting a moan from the depths of your chest.

“You’re drooling.” He notes casually, head cocking to the side.

Just barely, you’re able to look up at him, tears already dripping from the corners of your eyes. It’s a wonderful sight, especially when you reach up to stroke the remaining length. Every bit of skin he shows has been touched, kissed and licked and sucked on until he just couldn't take it. And that’s exactly how he likes it.

The tiny fist you wrap around the base of his dick makes him grin, continuing to stroke your hair as he says, “You’re so pretty like this.”

For how rough he could be, this man also seemed to have a sweet side. Maybe he was like that with everyone, or maybe he was just like that with you.

Streaks of mascara run over your cheeks, lipstick smeared from the spit dripping down your chin. The makeup you’d worked so hard on, ruined. All from him, and it’s been done in his perfect vision. Just how he’d pictured you - on your knees, crying for him, mouth stuffed to the brim. 

“Pretty little mess.” And with the way he says it, you’d think it was an insult.

The hand once petting your hair now grips it at the crown, shoving his hips up toward your mouth. Forcefully, you gag, the motion completely unexpected. But you take him as best you can, the hand around his cock now joining the other atop his thigh. It’s done to brace yourself, but he isn’t having any of that.

“No,” Paz growls, shoving your hands away. “Keep your hands down, keep them off of me.” 

Obediently, you lower them both, resting loosely behind your back. And now that your hands are gone, both of his find the back of your head, repeatedly forcing you down onto him. Every thrust is accompanied with a harsh grunt, cock stiff and hot as it repeatedly punches into your mouth. His tip, red and dripping, strikes the back of your throat with every rut, every erratic and animalistic movement. 

There’s nothing else for him, not in this moment. Right now, every bit of his attention is given to you, to your body and mind and everything you can bring him, everything he can bring you. Since the moment he laid eyes on your mesmerizing form, he knew he’d have you. One way or another, he was going to make you his; add you to his collection of girls. And this is just how he pictured it, even better, really. You’d already touched yourself for him, and so willingly dropped to your knees, too. He can’t remember the last time a whore sucked him off. Usually, sex was just sex; even here. Sure, he’d have his fun, but oral was never part of the deal. After a little bit of teasing, every woman here immediately got to business. But not you, and he’s liking that. You’re taking your time to satisfy him.

“Ugh,” With a wet gasp, you pull away, but only once he’s allowed it.

Every breath is ragged and hoarse and Paz’s are nearly just as rough. Allowing you this reprieve, he expects you to take it. But you’re full of surprises tonight, almost immediately diving right back in.

“Sh…” He says to you softly, gloved hand grabbing your jawline and chin. And when you look up at him, your expression is filled with such a sweetly sickening innocence. “Up.”

Climbing up his thick thighs, you find yourself wanting to meet his mouth. As if he’s thinking the same thought, his fingers move across your chin, sliding upward a bit. Using his thumb, he parts your lips, watching as you grin. With a single, simple shake of his head, he murmurs, “What I wouldn’t give to taste these lips…”

“Would you give your creed?” Teasingly, you return, mere inches from his metal skin.

“Not a goddamn chance.”

And with that, he’s reaching down and hauling you up and onto his lap. Your giggle is mixed with a tasteful gasp, hands reaching for those broad shoulders once again. Although you can’t kiss him, you can kiss his helmet, which you find comfort in doing. Pressing your lips to his metal cheek, you sigh blissfully against him. Somehow, it brings you closer to him.

Both of your warrior’s hands find the wonderful expanse of your backside, fisting it with a satisfied hum. Rocking you forward, he’s successful in brushing your smooth cunt against his shaft, another rapturous noise coming from him. 

“Are you ready for me, hm?” It doesn't take long before you’re moving of your own volition, grinding against his tip and rubbing yourself all the way down his length. 

“Mhm,” Forehead rubbing against the side of his helmet, you sigh, something similar to a tiny whine. 

Pulling you forward onto his chest, he grunts, lifting you enough to slide his tip against your entrance. Using your hold on him as balance, you take the lead, reaching down to angle him as he begins to slide in. Easily, Paz sinks inside, every single inch slowly but surely becoming enveloping by your welcoming walls. It’s almost unfair, the expectation of this. He’s monstrously thick and pounding against your thin, sensitive skin.

“Oh,”

“Yes.”

Dragging hotly against your inner walls, he’s already stretching you to tears halfway in. Painted fingernails dig into the cowl covering his skin, wishing to touch him, to kiss and mark him. You’re certain if you pushed it away, there’d already be beautiful discolorations from your lips. 

“Don’t worry, ner sarad’ika…” Paz grumbles, his hands moving over the curve of your waist. One finds purchase on your hips, while the other rises to the back of your head. With gentle force, he pulls you into him, feeling your arms loop entirely around his neck. “We’ll make it fit.” (My little flower)

“Verd,” Whimpering, your arms shake as he lowers you even more. “Ner verd.” (Warrior, my warrior)

“There you go,” Your correction forces a sense of pride to grow within his chest. “So good…”

“Fu-uck,” The cry is broken and breathy as it spills from your lips, sitting firmly on his lap.

He’s entirely inside, your ass resting against his scrotum. Even through his Beskar, he can feel the heavy rise and fall of your chest, can feel the shift of your thighs as you spread even wider to accommodate him. But then, you’re wincing, something that quickly concerns him.

“What?” Rubbing your back, he sighs, feeling your walls clench hotly around him. “Tell me.”

“Mm,” Timidly, you whimper, one hand dropping to press against one of his tassets. 

“Oh,” He realizes, hands dropping down to remove the armor that must be pinching at your sweet skin. And once the tops of his thighs are uncovered, you shimmy against him, rubbing over the black fabric still covering his bulky body. 

Once he’s set the plates aside, his hands run up and down your arms. “There…” He says comfortingly, hips rocking up into you. “Keep going, keep going.”

Shifting your hips, you gather yourself enough to sway against him. With both palms pressing against his cuirass, you steady your breaths in order to find a rhythm. And quickly, you do, alongside your warrior’s own eager movements. It brews inside him, the need to have you, to stretch you out and fuck you in a way you’ll remember; mold your insides to him, steal your breath and captivate your complete attention.

“That’s it, sweet little whore.”

“Baby,” His words do something ungodly to you, mixing with every ounce of exciting sin. 

“Look so fucking good,” His words are breathy, body moving with yours quite smoothly. “Impaled on me.”

“Yes, yes.”

The man beneath you is big enough to lift you entirely before dropping you right back down, cockhead hitting the deepest parts of your sex. His ridges rub along your insides in the most delightful way, pressing up against the spot that makes your eyes roll and your hips sway. 

“Can, can I, please…” Pawing at the covering around his neck, Paz becomes impatient, reaching up to rip it off completely. 

With a breath of relief, he continues, hand returning to your ass with a harsh spank just as you move to his neck. Your body shakes with his force, the motion repeated as soon as your lips attach to his neck. You’re bouncing down on him, ass slapping against his clothed thighs. 

“Fuck,” Growling, he almost can’t keep himself from doing it again, slapping your cheeks just to watch and feel them jiggle. “Fuck yourself onto me, just like that.”

His voice is deep and demanding, yet sincere and encouraging. Adrenaline rushes through your body every time you hear him speak, that slightly muffled and almost staticy voice doing wonders to your aroused state of being. 

“Ner verd,” Digging your teeth into his skin prompts another quick spank, one that sends a shrill giggle straight from your chest. “Yes.”

The slightly muted sound of your naked thighs against his covered legs begins to reverberate through the room, skin against skin echoing when you bring yourself down to his pelvis. He seems to enjoy it when you mark him, sucking on his skin with a fierce sense of determination. And when you’ve deemed one spot complete, you lick it sweetly. More than you can even fathom, it satisfies him.

“Sweet thing,” The smile in his tone is evident. “My new favorite girl.”

Wrapping both arms around you, their strength prevents you from any more movement. Instead, he pulls you onto him, pistoning his hips up against your sex. The pure power and force behind his working muscles leaves you fighting for breath. And alongside his flattering words, you find yourself smitten with him. 

The overwhelming sensation of him claiming your weeping cunt makes you see stars, makes you cling to him like you’d die if you didn’t. His panting breaths even fan out beneath his bulky mask, brushing over your skin and giving you a subtle taste of him. Floating through your head is the thought of his tongue, how he’d taste if you ran your own across it; how would he kiss you? How would his lips feel? How would they move?

“I want to claim you.” Voice deep and rumbling, he goes on to say, “Fill you to the brim with nothing but my seed.”

“I want that,” Nodding, you cling to him, his body firm and strong and Maker, how did you get him? “I want it.”

“Fill this sweet cunt, plug it with my cum.” It’s almost like he’s rambling, talking himself up to the point of an earth-shattering orgasm. “Say it to me.”

“Hm?”

“Th - my name. Say my name.” Amidst his excitement, his clouded mind, he’d almost forgotten. 

“Ner verd.” And the way you say it makes his entire existence float away with something akin to yearning, longing. (My warrior)

Inside, you feel fuzzy, needy and tingling with overwhelming bliss. The way he fucks up into you is sloppy, desperate to cum inside the warmth you’ve given him. You feel like a toy, nothing but entertainment for him. And you’re more than fine with satisfying that expectation. 

Driving his hips upward, something in him seems to break. Choking on his own breaths, he grunts, seeking out your wet warmth as he releases inside. 

“Soft fucking insides, so warm and welcoming - fuck. I’m gonna cum in it,” Squeezing you in his arms, his hips stutter, jerking against your core. “I’m gonna cum inside…”

“Y-Yes,” Dragging your nails down his neck, you witness the evidence of your own pleasure painting his skin red. 

The force of his high brings on your own, rutting over his lap as you try desperately to rub your clit onto him. It brushes over his pelvis, over the coarse hairs littering his base as you shake in each other’s arms, wanton moans floating freely through the room and out into the hall. Rope after rope fills your channel, the white liquid flooding your most sensitive space. And it milks him for every drop, clenching around his girth as your own high wrings every bit of pleasure from your limbs. Shivering through your body, he holds you through the overwhelming pleasure of it, listening to your feminine moans and reveling in the fact that he’s caused them. 

One hand then drops to your backside, squeezing you kindly once again. Giving you an easy tap, he clears his throat, sighing into relaxation. It’s obvious when he calms, body slumping slightly into his seat. Resting back against the cushions, he urges you to lay on his chest, smiling to himself when you do. It’s always comforted him, this brief sense of intimacy after sex. 

You woke to the sound of your phone buzzing, sheepishly rolling over to see

‘Stevens phone’ and a cute photo of the two of at park behind the caller id. Both boys have their own phones and their own numbers and their own contact list. But the body had to vary both sets of phones no matter who was fronting.

It’s 1am Steven ughhh you thought yourself answering the phone.

“Ahh hi yn I hope I didn’t wake you. It’s just…. I need to talk to someone and…” he was hard enough to hear in person when he mumbled and stuttered harder on the phone.

“It’s ok, what’s going on?” You spoke calmly knowing any sign of annoyment in your voice would have him upset.

“I just wanted to talk to you, hear your voice I guess” he was breathy, almost shaky different.

“You sure you ok Steven, I can come over? I don’t have work in the morning” you asked listing tintype sound of him breathing sound of fabric moving. The slight almost unheard sound of a grunt or moan…. Was…. Was he touching himself.

“Steven, talk to me please what’s going on” you where now worried not sure if he was hurt or if he was actually touching himself.

“Ah- yeah I’m ok. Just I can’t sleep. Like I don’t want to but fuck I’m so tired” he huffed.

“Steven I’m worried you sound… out of breath, I’m coming over” you quickly put on some jeans a coat over your pj shirt, running out the door.

“No yn you don’t need to come over really I just wanna talk” the panting and all the mysteries sounds had stopped. If he was doing what you believed you wanted to be there. You secretly loved Steven and Marc, maybe it was obvious to Marc he always made flirtations comments but Steven probably had no clue.

Lucky they only lived less then a block away so it was a quick walk.

You used your spear key and opened the door to a very dim lit studio apartment. The only light coming from the big window and Gus’s tank.

“Yn, you didn’t need to come over really” he was frantically get up to see you. Wearing nothing but boxes. But he must not have noticed his lack of clothing.

“Steven talk to me please, we’re close right, if you need help talk to me, you can trust me” you held your hand out hoping he would hold them in his own large soft hands. He didn’t he stayed a few steps away keeping his distance.

“I’m sorry. Really yn you don’t need to be here….” Here we go you thought steven was gonna sulk. He always felt so bad asking for help and yet he clearly needed it soo badly.

“Fucking hell steven don’t start, just tell me what you want, I’m here for you for anything, I’m always gonna be here for you and Marc. I’m not gonna leave you… just tell me what you need” you walked up to him as you spoke, holding his hand speaking calmly but sternly. He just nodded as your words.

“It’s nothing you can help with yn. I’m sorry…. But we can watch a movie if you want, that would be nice” he whispered. He looked down trying to hid his face.

You looked his tone half naked body up and down. Noticed he was semi hard a small wet patch on his boxers… you where right.

“Steven, in 100% certain I can help you” he quickly noticed where your eyes where.

“Oh Shit, I forgot I’m not… clothed. I’m so sorry yn” he covered himself and stepped away. He looked into the mirror clearly listening to Marc.

“Ohhhhhhh that, that make sense…. Why didn’t you tell me!?” Steven yelled at the mirror slowly turning to look at you.

“Can…ca-can you help me…. It’s been so long, and I just, just can’t…” he mumbled to himself he couldn’t finish his sentence.

“I know what you mean… can I help you” closing the distance between the two of you. He nodded as you took his hand leading him to his bed. Sitting him down, you kneeled between his legs he stayed quiet taking a deep breath as you slowly pulled down his boxes his semi hard, thick cock springing free, pre sticking to his tip and inside his boxes. You removed your pj shirt revealing your chest. He stared for a good minute before nodding.

You slowly start to pump him spreading the pre down and around his shaft as he slowly grew in your hand. You kissed the top, tasting the salty pre cum the coated his cock. He stayed quiet you knew he was muffling his voice

“Steven baby, don’t be quite” you hummed as you licked up his shaft. “Tell me you want this, I can stop at any point baby” you continued he just nodded again.

“No Steven you need to use your words, I need clear consent” you locked eyes as he cleared his throat.

“Please yn help me, I-I wanna -I wanna cum” he whimpered. You smirked in response.

“Good boy” you added before your mouth began devouring his beautiful cock. It was still growing getting hard and bigger stretching your jaw to its limit. Slowly bobbing, your young whirling around Hayne underside his moans filling your ears.

He roughly grabbed your hair, pushing you down deeper your nose brushing his well groomed pubes. One of your hands went down as you began to please yourself, the feeling made you beyond desperate for touch.

“Are-oh oh my god- yn-mhhh- fuck. Are you just as desperate?” He moaned noticing you fiddling with yourself. But you continued to serve his needs. But Steven didn’t like that you had go silent. Pulling you off him with a pop.

“Sorry baby… I’m ok, we can deal with after ok… for now it’s all you ok” you smirked getting back to work.

He happily complied as his hips began to move on their own soon he was ducking your throat, thrusting deep inside as tears ran down your cheeks.

“Ahh fuck yn your perfect- oh shit- I’v dreamed about this for- oh shit- months-ugh- fuck… yn- I’m close” he moaned his thrust becoming slowly and slow his cock pulsing against your tongue. His moans and grunts filling the room as his came. He stoped thrusting as his over sensitive cock spilled into your mouth.

But you knew damn well he had more to over you where hungry. You started to bob again rough and fast his grip on your head tightened

“Oh fuck yn oh god too much fuck- I’m- again- fuck” he moaned as came again in mere moments. You where finally satisfied pulling away with another pop, opening your mouth to show him the amount of cum. Some dripping down your chin onto your chest.

“Oh Shit yn let me get you a towel” he said frantically trying to get up. But you keep him in place holding him down by his thighs. You shake your head in disagreement making sure he was watching as you closed your mouth and swallowed.

“Shit god, your- ah- amazing” he panted. Falling back onto the pillows.

You went up to join him.

“Let’s just sleep Steven we can talk about all of this in the morning” you smiled crawling over to him. 

“I agree” he smiled sleepishly.

It’s such an appealing idea, though, that he can’t shake it once it occurs to him. There’s no question that he’d make more money and make it faster. He’d even be able to stay in one place—fuck, the absurd luxury of that simple prospect—and that would mean fewer credits spent on overpriced fuel and less time wasted in hyperspace.

Still, he feels hesitant. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s been to brothels before, with no shame whatsoever. But there is no denying the fact that sex work would be a nontraditional choice for a Mandalorian, and that’s putting it lightly.

I could stop at any time.

Then, he realizes how readily the clients line up—and how much they’re willing to pay—and Din finally appreciates the nuanced effect his armor and mystique have on people. He’d always thought it was pure intimidation. He thought of himself as scary—as too menacing—and he did what he could to mitigate that in friendly company. He kept his hands in everyone’s line of sight. He moved slowly and carefully. He announced his intentions. He unclipped his Amban rifle and propped it against the table. He spoke softly, politely.

But now? He knows that in some cases, there is a healthy dose of attraction mixed into that fear. The staring, the stuttering, the lingering glances that trail down his metal-clad body, the inability to meet the severe gaze of his visor?

It turns out, for many, fear and lust share a blurred edge, and Din can make thousands of credits playing in that murky in-between space.

So he settles into it.

His average client is wealthy and adventurous. They’re senators and merchants and sometimes even royalty. A thousand credits an hour mean nothing to them. They want novelty. They want danger—or, really, the illusion of danger. Some want hunter/bounty role-play, some want restraints, some want gun or knife play. He’s open to it all.

His Creed remains intact: the helmet always stays on. Most clients insist that all of his armor stay on, in fact. They want the full experience. So he pleasures them with his fingers and his cock, and no one ever complains. He knows the reason for that is twofold: how can they be upset when they’ve cum six times? And who’s going to complain to a fully armored Mandalorian?

So now, Din spends his days in high-end hotel rooms on plush feather beds. He’s well-rested and well-fed all the time. He sends an obscene amount of money back to the covert.

It’s ridiculous how much better this life is—there’s no contest between being run ragged from hunting and this. He doesn’t chase credits anymore; clients come to him. And for him because he is excellent at this job. His endurance and attention to detail easily transferred between occupations.

The one disappointing constant though, the one thing about hunting he hasn’t been able to shake, is the loneliness. There’s little companionship in being a companion, he’s found.

*** YOU

This is a great idea.

This is a terrible idea.

You pace back and forth in front of the hotel room door, eyes fixed on the sleek metal floor under your feet, trying to control your frantic breathing.

You can’t believe you’re actually here…about to blow half your savings on a night with a Mandalorian.

You heard about him through your wealthy clients at work. They rave about him—about his attention, his hands, his shoulders… his armor, his cuffs, his voice. His cock. They whisper—loudly, purposefully—about their multiple orgasms.

You’ve been hearing about him for months. Getting hornier by the fucking minute.

Just do it.

You’ve already paid, credits wired over this morning, so you might as well get your money’s worth. I’m ready. You’re completely sure of that.

You stop in front of the silver door and reach out to swipe the key card across the scanner when another wave of embarrassment hits you—not because you’re here but because you’re going to have little to no idea what you’re doing.

And he’ll know.

That’s too much to take. You turn on your heel and stride away, but you’ve only taken two steps when the door slides open behind you.

“Hi.”

Fuck.

You whip around, your face set in a guilty smile. “Hi.”

He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his elbow propped over his head, the other leather-clad hand tucked into his belt…casually, as if he hasn’t just stepped directly out of your filthiest daydream. He’s tall, broad… the black t of his visor fixed on your face, head slightly cocked, his silver armor glinting in the dim light. You can’t decide if you’re more intimidated or more turned on. He trails his gaze down your body, and you decide it’s definitely the latter.

“Are you here to see me?”

Shit, they were right: his voice is fucking sexy.

You take a steadying breath and say, “Yes.”

He steps back, gesturing you inside with a gloved hand. And that’s enough to make up your mind for you.

There was no way you were leaving once you saw him anyways.

*** DIN

The first thing he notices is that you’re just his type. If he met you anywhere else, he’d pursue you. That’s irrelevant though.

The second thing Din realizes is that you’re not his average client.

You look... normal? You’re not some heiress or politician. And you seem nervous in a very different way than he’s used to. Usually, his clients are excited, often a little apprehensive and awkward at first. You, on the other hand, look legitimately worried.

You immediately make your way to the bed and sit on the edge, looking anywhere but at him, your hands fussing together in your lap. He stands, watching you for a moment, his thumbs tucked into his belt.

He hasn’t encountered a you yet, but he knows what to do.

He turns and takes a seat on the couch across from the bed, a low coffee table between you, pointedly giving you plenty of space. He studies you for a moment, and raptorial interest stirs in his chest as he moves his eyes over your body—your parted lips, your gorgeous tits. Din tamps that down and focuses on the job, on getting you comfortable.

“What’s your name?”

You look up quickly and tell him, then ask, “What’s yours? They just called you The Mandalorian—”

“Mando is fine.”

“Right.”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch and lets the silence simmer for a moment. Then he gets the most important thing out of the way: “My helmet always stays on. No exceptions, no touching it.” You nod solemnly, and he continues, his voice low and smooth: “Tell me about you, what you like.”

“What I like?”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t—uh—I don’t have anything in particular in mind,” you say, still not looking at him. “Just…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at yourself and then at him as if that will explain. “I’m just—I’m not sure—well, okay so...here’s the thing—”

He can’t help but smile behind his helmet. You’re cute when you’re flustered.

“I meant in general, not just sexually.”

“Oh…right.”

You seem surprised but relieved to start somewhere easy. To his immense satisfaction, Din watches the tension leave your shoulders as you walk him through your job and your hobbies. He asks follow up questions throughout, and soon enough, you’re actually looking at him, eyes trained directly on his visor.

“What about you?”

“Me?” He’s not expecting you to turn it around on him.

“Yeah,” you prod, “tell me about you.”

So he tells you some general things about how he used to be a bounty hunter, and you listen with warm attention, leaning back to brace yourself on your palms. Every time he thinks you’re going to be ready to move on, you prompt him with another question.

You like his voice. He can tell.

That’s not uncommon, but usually clients don’t want to spend their valuable time listening to him make small talk. He indulges you though, enjoying the way you seem to be defrosting, relaxing. Soon, you’ve slipped back to rest on your elbows, your shoes kicked off and feet hanging off the edge of the bed.

Finally, you let the conversation dwindle, and you seem comfortable enough that Din decides to move forward.

“Tell me about why you’re here.”

You sit up a bit, some of the discomfort returning to your posture. You consider his request for a moment then blurt: “I’ve never had sex.”

The words hit Din like cold water, and everything makes sense—everything except why you chose him for this. People come to him to add spice to their sex lives not to begin their sex lives. Who chooses a Mandalorian warrior for that?

“This is your first time,” he states bluntly, trying to process.

“Yeah...it is.” You shift around on the bed and meet his visor again. “I mean, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve been with men, just not…all the way. Is that okay?”

Din isn’t sure how to answer that. He’s never had to make this decision. He doesn’t know if it’s okay, doesn’t know if he wants this responsibility.

What he does know is that every time you look vulnerable, his hands itch to soothe you.

“Are you sure you want it to be with me?”

You look him dead in the eyes, even through the barrier of shadowed glass, and say, “Yes. I’m sure.”

For someone who came into the room so tentatively, with quiet steps and wringing hands, you look completely self-assured now. Your shoulders are squared and eyes clear. Din’s own uncertainty dissipates, and his gaze lingers on your slightly parted lips. Something primal nudges at his hindbrain, and a realization drips down his spine like warm honey: he decides he’s going to like the privilege of being your first time. He’s sure of that.

He nods.

That seems to embolden you because you stand then and cross the small space to sit next to him on the couch. Close. Almost touching.

You look up at him with bright eyes and ask, “Can I touch you?”

He chuckles quietly at the unexpected question. “Yes, you can touch me.”

You smile wryly at him, and he ignores the urge to brush his thumb over your bottom lip. Instead, he reaches for one of your hands and places it on his knee in an effort to break the ice, but you don’t leave it there. You bring it up and trace the severe curve at the side of his helmet with a feather-light touch, your eyes fixed on his visor.

It catches him off guard, and Din stops breathing. He feels unnerved by your direct gaze—pinned and laid bare—like you can somehow see his eyes even though he knows it’s impossible through the dark tint of the glass.

His thoughts slow, and he sees in you what he sees in himself: you’re looking for intimacy, for closeness. What surprises him is that the barrier of his beskar doesn’t seem to be preventing you from looking for that—for finding that—with him.

You run your finger back up the arched line of metal, and somewhere vague in the back of his mind, he knows he should reach up and catch your hand in his, like he always does when someone tries to touch his helmet. Instead, he abides. He couldn’t tell you why if you asked. Maybe it’s because he feels sure you’re not going to try to remove it. Your expression is open, curious—reverent, even.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse suddenly, pulling your hand back like you’ve been burned by the cold metal. “I’m not supposed to touch your helmet. That’s your main rule—I’m sorry, I just—I got caught up. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Oh, right. That is a rule.

He nods, catching your hand and holding it between his. He wants to say it’s okay, to reassure you, but he knows he shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be okay.

He brushes one hand over your cheek, and your guilty expression gives way to a smile. You scoot closer, your knee nudging his thigh. You’re quiet, your face serious, as you run your hands over the lines of his armor. Din watches your face, his helmet cocked as he studies you.

“Can I take this off?” you ask, looking up at his visor as you trail your fingers idly down his chestplate.

“Yeah, I can—” he reaches up to start the long process of undressing himself.

“No,” you say, stopping him with a hand. “Can I do it?”

“Yeah,” he says, “sure,” and shows you the complicated releases for his armor.

In general, if a client wants him naked—and they usually don’t because the armor is a large part of his appeal—they wait expectantly and impatiently for him to undress, knowing their time is ticking away as he removes each piece of beskar. So, undressing is typically a harried process of Din stripping as fast as he can while a client waits, tapping their fingers restlessly.

With you, the process is slow and intimate. You take your time to remove each plate and set them neatly in a row on the coffee table before moving on to his bandolier, his belt, his cape, his cowl. The last things to come off are his gloves, and when you spend a long time admiring his rough hands, he doesn’t know what to do or say. He lets you continue.

When you’ve stripped him down to his duraweave, you surprise him again by climbing directly onto his lap—asking, “Is this okay?” as you go—and settling in with your back against the armrest of the couch, your legs laid over his thighs, when he nods. He reacts on instinct, slipping an arm around your waist to hold you close.

You’re soft, your weight reassuring, and for some weird reason, his throat feels a little tight when you slide your arm around his shoulders and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He sets one hand on your thigh, the other rubbing reassuring lines up and down your back.

You stay like that for a long time, maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. Din is not acutely aware of the passage of time like he usually is when he’s with his clients.

“Okay,” you proclaim unexpectedly, extracting yourself from his embrace and getting to your feet to stand in front of him. “I’m ready now.”

To your credit, you do look about a hundred times more relaxed.

But he likes this languid pace; he wants to maintain it. So he reaches out to catch your wrist and guide you back onto his lap, this time facing him on your knees, straddling his thighs.

“We have all night, sweetheart. There’s no rush.”

Din already knows you like his voice, but he watches the word sweetheart wash over you and realizes how much you like it. Your gaze softens, and your pupils dilate: some heady mixture of affection and lust shivers down your spine.

Din feels his own answering interest pulse through his veins. His vision narrows, and all he can focus on is your mouth, the way your tongue darts out to swipe across your lower lip. He’s grateful you’re perched over him, so you can’t see the very immediate effect you’re having on his lap.

It’s partially selfish—this desire he has to take his time with you. Some part of him feels a little guilty because he wants to take care of you because it feels good for him. It’s both, though. He wants it for you, and he wants it for himself too.

He cups your face, and you melt into his touch.

“Will you let me take care of you? Let me take my time with you?”

You close your eyes and nuzzle against his palm like a pleased cat, going supple and yielding in his hands. “Mmmm, yes.”

For the first time, Din thinks he might be in over his head.

*** YOU

The anxiety dissipates. You forget to be nervous. The acute feeling of cortisol singing through your veins is replaced by a pleasant haze, by a low thrum of pleasure, and you’re keyed into every place Mando is touching you. The sensations are overwhelming. They swallow you whole: his large, warm hand sliding up the back of your shirt, his cold helmet leaned against your temple, the pads of his fingers skating down your spine, the press of his muscular thighs against the insides of your legs.

You want more.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Mando nods and reaches up to undo the short set of buttons at the top of his shirt, then pulls it up and over his helmet, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Yes, this.

You splay your hands wide over his pecs and scooch backward on his lap to get a better view of the expanse of skin underneath you. He’s so warm and real, so human under all that metal, and all at once, you’re desperate to feel his skin against yours. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but before you can pull it off, his hand stops you. You look up at him, and he quirks his helmet.

“Can I?”

You nod.

You keep expecting to get acclimated to his voice—for it to stop thundering through your nervous system like a cloudburst of warm rain every time he says something in that low, rolling bass—but apparently that’s not going to happen.

He undresses you with careful hands, easing your shirt over your head. He urges you to stand, and he unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips, your hands resting on his bare shoulders.

Something about his concentration and care makes you even more needy—even more ready. When he has you down to your underwear and bra, he pulls you back onto his lap, and you melt against his solid chest, your lips finding his neck. You place a tentative kiss there, and he wraps his long arms around you and holds you close. Emboldened by the quiet hitch in his breathing through the modulator, you work your mouth over his neck while your hands wander, trailing over the thick, corded muscles of his arms, down the dark hair dusting his sternum, across his soft stomach.

The anxiety returns, hitting you like the wide side of a bantha, when your hand pauses between his legs. Shit. You pray that he’s fully hard because if he’s not…there’s no way anything bigger than this is fitting inside you.

The want running through your veins, however, is much louder than the fear.

*** DIN

Din feels it the moment your uncertainty returns, and he covers your hand where it’s sitting in his lap with one of his.

“We’re only going to do what feels good for you,” he reminds you gently. “Whatever you want.”

You nod against his neck then pull away to look into his visor, your fingers tightening around his cock. “I want this.”

He hums deep in his chest, his eyelids drooping closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your hand on his aching cock. He can’t help it—he wants you to want his cock. He knows he can make it feel good for you. He gives your hand an encouraging squeeze where it’s wrapped around him.

“I can make it feel good for you. I promise.”

You press your face back into his neck and make a sound of enthusiastic agreement—something between a hum and a whine that makes his cock throb.

Din’s control is slipping, and he knows it: that carefully constructed wall he keeps between himself and his clients seems to be ineffective with you. Or maybe, he’s tearing it down himself.

“Have you cum before?”

You tense a little under his hands. “Yes.”

He hums again, his mind flashing to a vision of you with your hand between your legs, panting and arching. His mouth waters. “Good. Are you ready for me to make you cum now?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He pats your thigh. “Let’s move to the bed.”

*** YOU

You lay out on the big bed, Mando kneeling beside you. He eases off your last layer, blindly tossing your bra and underwear over his shoulder, his helmet glued to your bare body. That black t rakes over you, raising goosebumps in its wake—down and back up—and stops on your face.

He watches your expression to gauge your comfort level as one large hand cups your breast, the other trailing down your body. You gasp—in relief and pleasure—when his palm rides the curve of your mound and he dips his fingers into you with a groan.

“Already wet?” he asks with a cocky little jaunt of his helmet.

You’re gearing up to reply with something sassy when he puts a sudden pressure on your clit—not moving his finger, just keeping it still and steady—to silence you.

The words die on your tongue. You drop your head back on the pillow and close your eyes. He waits a moment then circles his finger firmly, and your eyes snap back open, your mouth falling open in a soundless exhale.

He continues like that until you’re writhing and whining—pleading with gasped words and wide eyes—and he slips one… and then two thick fingers inside your slick cunt.

He takes you apart—once, twice—with expert precision, with care.

You watch his hands as he does. You can’t help but fixate on them when they’re wringing so much pleasure from your body. One works relentlessly between your legs, the other providing a grounding weight over your sprinting heart.

The hand splayed on your sternum rises and falls in tandem with your rapid breaths, the obscene spread displaying the range, the reach of him. His hands are big, wide—you study the meandering blue veins that fork like rivers between the mountains of his knuckles. His fingers are long and thick, his nails blunt and well kept. Utilitarian.

He presses up against something inside you that radiates pure bliss. You arch for him; you keen.

And you’re so caught up in the intimacy that your imagination runs wild: you can envision his hands doing other things—his palm smoothing over your fevered temple, brushing away a bead of sweat with aching care, just as much as you can see his knuckles split and bloody from the pure lust of possession. You want that. You want him to possess you, to leave someone else black and blue for coveting what is undeniably his.

The weight of his warm palm leaves your chest, and he glosses his knuckles over your bottom lip, dragging it slightly, opening your panting mouth a little more so your humid breath fans over his skin. The black void of his visor is fixed there, and you can feel the want in that gesture—the need. And for a moment, you can see past the helmet with perfect clarity.

He wishes he could be touching your lips with more than his hand.

You feel completely sure of that.

He shifts and leans into you, collapsing onto his side to spread out along your body, pressing his cold helmet into the space between your ear and your shoulder. You gasp and flinch back at the initial shock of contact but bring a hand up to keep him in place when he tries to move away.

You want him close—like having him here in your space as you cum around his thick fingers for the second time—but you can’t help but wish—

“Fuck, I want to kiss you,” you breathe against the curve of beskar.

As soon as the words are floating out there, though, you realize that’s a shitty thing to say to him when there’s nothing he can do about it.

He goes completely still and grunts through the modulator, and for the first time, you have no idea where you stand. You realize he’s been keeping you tethered this whole time—with his calm demeanor, his directness—because suddenly you’re adrift.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know it’s—”

Before the words of your apology are out of your mouth, though, he’s pulling away from you, sliding off the bed and striding to the other side of the room. Panic surges through you. He’s been so good to you, given you everything you need, and still you asked for more.

You scramble to the end of the bed, perched on your knees. “I’m sorry, I won’t say it again, I promise—”

You hesitate when he stops in front of the small, square control panel on the wall by the door, punching several buttons. Before you can wonder what he’s doing, every light is extinguished, and the blackout curtains on the other side of the room close with a swish. You whip your head around at the sound, watching as the last sliver of the blinking city lights is doused.

You look back to where he’s still standing. “What are you—?”

His silhouette is imposing in the dark. The mattress dips when he sits beside you, and he reaches up, slipping his thumb under the lip of his helmet. There’s an unfamiliar hiss, and you watch in astonishment as he eases the black shadow off his head and tosses it carelessly on the bed.

Your heart stops.

You’re shocked into silence, staring at Mando’s dark outline.

You’re not sure who’s more surprised by this turn of events—you or him. You can tell he has stunned himself by the stiff way he’s sitting, completely frozen, all his ease and confidence gone. You feel a surge of affection at how human and vulnerable he suddenly seems. You can see the outline of his tousled helmet-hair, and you’re desperate to soothe him, to hold his hand and guide him through this softly.

Just as he was doing for you.

*** DIN

Suddenly, the roles are reversed. Din’s breath is shallow and shaky, and it feels like the basic control of his body has shifted from autopilot to manual without his permission. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. They’re sitting uselessly in his lap, and his arms feel unwieldy and long.

He’s lost.

And what’s even worse? He knows that you can tell he’s lost, even in the complete darkness.

Is this how you’ve been feeling all night? He’s struck in that moment by how brave you are for staying because after feeling this way—this untethered and unarmored—for about thirty seconds, he is on the verge of vaporizing.

He’d ripped off his helmet in a fog of overwhelming desire—of reckless, desperate passion. You’d whispered that you wanted to kiss him, and it felt like a sign. He had been fixated—possessed by—the same thing, and the tight space inside his helmet became unbearably thick and suffocating. Years of denying himself suddenly weighed too heavy on his shoulders, so heavy that his resolve splintered…but now reality is crashing down on him.

He’s supposed to be the professional here. You paid him for this, and his job is to know what the fuck he’s doing. He’s supposed to be making sure your first time is good for you, and he just let his own needs—his own wants—take the driver’s seat.

You slide closer to him on the bed, one of your palms settling reassuringly on his chest, and Din is acutely aware of how obviously his heart is pounding.

“It’s okay,” you say, your hand sliding upwards over his pec. “Can I—can I touch your face?”

He should say no. That’s too dangerous, too familiar. It’s not worth the risk. His heart hammers irregularly under your fingertips.

“Yes,” he says, and your soft hand cups his cheek. He shudders, leaning into your touch. It’s overwhelming. It’s electric—the sensation is so good and acute that it burns. He wants you to touch all of him, to kiss every plane of his face, to sear away the pain until all that’s left is pleasure.

Right on cue, you lean forward, and Din remains completely still, paralyzed by this unfamiliar feeling of being totally out of his depth. Some panicked part of him is convinced that if he doesn’t move at all, at least he won’t have done anything wrong.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable,” you whisper against his stubbly cheek. “I’m totally fine with just—”

The only thing he’s sure about is that he wants this.

He covers the hand on his chest with his own, his other large palm cradling the back of your neck, keeping you in place, and he can feel you smile against his cheek. He wants to tell you I want this—please kiss me, but he knows if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll hate the waver in his voice.

“Let me take care of you,” you say, reflecting his words back to him, and the ice in Din’s chest thaws. You’re sweet and soft, and he knows that even if he fucks this up, you’ll still be kind to him. In a way, he thinks he might be giving you exactly what you want. What’s more intimate than vulnerability?

It feels safe to move again. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, and holding you gently in place, he tilts his head and fits his lips against yours.

He starts slow—gentle and tentative. You’re patient with him: you let him acclimate to the sensation, grounding him with the steady presence of your hand over his stuttering heart, the other framing his jaw. You press a few light kisses to his lips and start to lean away, to give him some air, but he doesn’t want air—he wants this. He wants the vacuum of space, asphyxia.

Din curls his fingers firmly around the nape of your neck to lock you in place. He leans in and kisses you harder, pressing his mouth to yours until your front teeth click together. He huffs out his embarrassment and adjusts, but you’re unfazed. You venture further, parting your lips to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue against his when he does the same, and Din is immediately addicted to your mouth.

He wants it everywhere.

He wants your tongue teasing his nipples, your spit dripping down the length of his cock, your teeth set against his neck, your lips mouthing over his balls.

He wants.

*** YOU

Mando moans against your lips, and you feel like you’re being given a gift with the raw sound of his unmodulated voice.

The kiss goes from sweet to needy, and you both feel it. All at once, you’re pulling him on top of you while he’s pushing you back on the bed. Awkwardly, without interrupting the kiss, you scramble backward together, feeling your way through the darkness until your head hits the pillow. He’s braced over you, a muscled thigh situated between your legs, his newly bold tongue in your mouth.

He pants against your lips, forcing the words out between kisses and labored breaths: “Are you ready for me, baby?”

Something inside you turns to liquid when he calls you baby.

“Fuck—yes, please—”

You can hear him working at the fastenings on his pants, freeing himself. Despite how wet you are and the fact that you’ve already cum on his fingers twice, you're braced for some amount of pain. You’ve heard it hurts. And his cock is massive—he shucks off his pants, and it’s resting heavy and thick and long against your inner thigh—so you’re convinced it’s going to hurt even more than you anticipated. You’re trying to stay calm, trying to focus on how good it feels when he kisses you, but you’re sure he can feel you tensing beneath him.

You’re desperate for him to fill the empty ache inside you, and you’re also scared.

The pad of his thumb smooths over your furrowed brow, and he pulls away: “Relax,” he purrs. “I promised to take care of you, remember? I’ll make this good for you.”

You nod in the darkness.

He presses his lips to yours again, and your entire body unclenches. Approval rumbles through his chest, and he kisses you deeply as two of his thick fingers sink easily inside you again. He pumps them languidly before easing a third in alongside them.

It’s so good and not enough.

“I think you’re ready for me.”

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want me to stop, if it hurts.”

You nod again, and he swipes his cock through your folds before he fits the blunt head against you. You cling to him, one hand around his neck, fingers tangled in his messy hair, the other flat on his back. He eases his hips forward, pushing just the tip inside, and you know he’s going agonizingly slow for your benefit.

Oh yeah, it’s fucking tight.

He murmurs brokenly against your parted lips as he slips inside: “That’s it. Tell me if it’s too much. Ngghh—you’re doing so good for me.”

It doesn’t hurt though. There is no pain. It’s uncomfortable for a minute. The stretch is new, and the pressure feels foreign, and then he’s all the way inside you, his hips flush against yours, and oh fuck—

He lets out a deep, desperate groan, and you whine loudly against his ear, but you’re so overcome with the feeling, with the sheer fullness that you aren’t even embarrassed by how needy you sound, rendered wordless by pleasure.

His voice is strained when he asks, “How does it feel? Are you okay?”

“Yes—you feel so good—so big—please fuck me,” you slur, and you can feel him smile as he huffs against your cheek.

He holds you close to his chest—to his beating heart—while he fucks you slowly, deeply, and the end of each one of his strokes touches something inside you that aches in the best way. He takes his time with you, just like he promised. You pant in the dark together—for minutes? Hours? Days?

“Tell me,” he prompts again, his voice a hoarse whisper, “tell me how it feels.”

You wish you had the right words for him, wish you could string together the requisite poetry. Instead, he gets a mumbled, “Fuck—mmm—Mando it’s so good—yes, like that—”

The way he sets his teeth at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and moans makes you think he gets it anyway.

When the pleasure gets so acute that it requires remedy—when it’s so good it’s almost unbearable—you start to meet each of his thrusts, canting your hips up to chase the sensation, the fullness. He grunts lowly and responds to you: he pulls back to reach between your bodies, trailing a hand down your stomach, to start rubbing attentive circles over your clit.

“Knew you could take me—now you’re gonna cum on my cock.”

He starts to fuck you faster, and you do; he coaxes it out of you.

You pulse and tighten around him, and it’s different than what you know— a widespread pleasure, bone-deep and all-encompassing. You arch your back, nails digging into the skin of his neck, and let the heat roll through your body while he gives you his cock, again and again.

When it starts to fade, you melt into the blissful haze, muscles going warm and slack. You drop your hands over your head, and Mando reaches up to pin your crossed wrists with one huge hand, his elbow braced on the pillow beside your ear, as he follows close behind you.

After a few more punches of his hips, he rips himself away and cums across your stomach—warmth spattering across your skin—pumping himself with a broken groan.

You’re flattened, sweaty and panting, lost in the afterglow of the best orgasm of your life. He disappears into the ensuite refresher and returns with a warm washcloth, carefully cleaning you off as you catch your breath. When he returns again, he braces himself over you to kiss you deeply—and the press of your bodies, of your lips doesn’t feel new anymore. It feels familiar, comforting: like warmth and intimacy cultivated over time.

He rolls onto his back, slumping beside you on the pillow, your breathing a quiet chorus in the darkness.

You hear the muted rustle when he turns his head to look at you, so you do the same, admiring his dark silhouette.

“...are you hungry?”

“Starving,” you breathe.

And you both laugh, a long breathless laugh that has very little to do with the fact that you’re both hungry and everything to do with how easily your hands find each other in the dark.

Before you can ask what you should do about this conundrum, he’s rolling out of bed and sliding his helmet back on. You try to ignore your answering surge of disappointment. Of course it makes sense that he’d put his helmet back on.

He clicks one of the dim lamps on, and for the first time, you’re treated to the full view of him.

Your jaw drops shamelessly.

“What?” he asks, frozen.

The words are out before you can really consider them: “Stars, you’re pretty.”

He scoffs, shaking his head—the warm, golden lamplight skating over the mirrored surface of his helmet—as if you’re kidding. You’re not.

He extracts a datapad from the drawer of the bedside table, and the bed dips when he lays out beside you. He clicks it on and navigates around the interface, asking you what you want. While you decide what to order together—selecting enough food to easily feed four people—you admire the long spread of him, his wide shoulders, the hard lines of his hip bones, and the soft curve of his belly in this slightly hunched position. And all you can think about is how much you want to taste all of him.

When the food is ordered, he clicks the datapad off.

“How long will the food take?” you ask.

“Not long, probably half an hour—”

“Perfect,” you reply, a wicked smile on your lips, as you sit up and throw a leg over him to straddle his thighs. “Plenty of time.”

He tosses the datapad somewhere on the bed and pulls you down on his lap. “Oh yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “For what exactly?”

“I’ll show you,” you purr. You lean forward and suck a hard kiss under his jaw, and he runs his hands up your back.

The long, low sound that emanates from his chest makes you think he likes this just as much as you do.

“Oh, I probably shouldn’t give you a hickey,” you laugh, sitting back on your heels to look into his visor.

“Mmm, I don’t mind,” he says, lazily tipping his helmet to the side and guiding you back in with a hand on the nape of your neck.

“Oh well, in that case…”

*** DIN

He shouldn’t let things go any further, shouldn’t let them spiral. It’s already gotten out of hand. Din knows he should leave his helmet on for the rest of the night and focus on the fact that this is a job.

…but he’s hungry. And he’s already taken it off once in your presence. Would a second time make it worse?

No, he decides, not worse.

And so he lets things bleed a little further into a muddy, unprofessional territory. Control slips a little further out of his hands, unspools.

Even though he should, he doesn’t really mind that feeling anymore. What felt like a loss of control is starting to taste like…joy?

You sit back-to-back on the bed, lights low and his helmet staring blindly next to his thigh, and chat while you eat. An hour passes easily like that, maybe two. He finds himself telling you about his life—his real life—when you ask. And you tell him about yours—about your past relationships, how you’d found companions and potential lovers but no intimacy, so you’d left each one and searched on.

That hits him somewhere deep in his chest.

When you’re done eating, you offer to close your eyes so he can turn the lights off again, to keep his helmet off. He should say no, thank you and put his helmet back on. He should leave it there—in its rightful place—for the rest of the night.

But he can’t take back what’s already happened—he doesn’t want to.

So he lets the line go a little more slack. And it feels good.

He agrees and shuts all the lights off, climbing back into bed with you and pulling you to his side. You don’t even have sex again. It doesn’t come up. You just lie together, close, always touching, and talk. You kiss, taking turns initiating long stints of making out, of mapping each other with your lips, but the rest of the night is largely not even sexual. Just… intimate.

His arm slung around your shoulders, your face settled in the crook of his neck. His head resting in your lap, your fingers carding through his hair.

For the first time in a long time, Din doesn’t feel alone.

It’s a night of firsts, apparently, for both of you. In addition to his first kiss, it’s the first time he falls asleep in the presence of a client. It feels natural though: his eyes drift closed late into the night, your head on his chest, your fingers laced through his.

*** YOU

When you wake in the morning, Mando is gone, the bed cold. You knew he would leave when the time you paid for was up, but the hopeful, sensitive part of you—the part that thought maybe, just maybe, he’d also felt something for you—still feels stung.

You stretch, and your body is the tiniest bit sore, but mostly you just feel just fucked-out and relaxed, warm and lazy. Some part of you wonders if it was a bad idea to have him be your first. You’re pretty certain it’s not ever going to be better than that.

Too late now.

You sigh and sit up, looking around for your clothes. You know you left them strewn all over the room, but now, you find that everything is folded in a stack on the dresser.

You slide to the edge of the bed, and that’s when you notice a note written in neat, squared-off letters on the bedside table.

Before you could even register what he was doing, Mando had already plopped down on his knees before you. Din's hands running over your hips as he desperately pulls your bottoms down.

"Din you don't have to-"

"I want to." He says stiffly. His warm ungloved hands making contact with your thighs as he admires the sight in front of him. You were already straining against your underwear. The mere sight of the fully armorered Mandalorian on his knees before you was making you much harder than you care to admit.

The truth was Din looked perfect like this. His armor made him look strong and powerful. Then still was his exposed face, sweet soft brown eyes, cute curls draping over his forehead. His hands too, strong and capable but years working under the guard of his gloves left them feeling soft. This was the way you saw the Mandalorian, for the faceted mess of contradictions and duality he was. Having all of him below you was an overwhelming sight.

Finally, Din slips his fingertips into the top of your underwear and pulls down, freeing your cock. It bobbed slightly, earning you a groan from your Mandalorian. He looks up at you hesitantly. His eyes meticulously scanning over the length of your cock. You speak up, wanting to give him an out

"You really don't-" before you can get the words out Din's tongue flicks the top, lapping up a bead of precum into his mouth. You couldn't stop the moan that escapes your lips if you tried.

Din closes his eyes and lets the taste of you linger on his tongue. A visible shiver runs down his body. He was so eager to have you, but denying himself for his own masiconistic pleasure. His wide brown eyes reconnect with yours. They're blown out and filled with anticipation. A tinge of red spreads over his cheeks as a terrible idea overcomes him.

"Fuck my mouth...please" He begs, his mouth open wide, offering himself to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Din, are you sure?" You hesitantly stroke his head, feeling over his curls. Your body growing desperate. As much as you wanted him, this was new territory for both of you.

All your concerns are forgotten when Din slides the tip of your cock into his mouth, urging you on. He sloppily licks up the slit, a mix of precum and saliva already making a mess of his pouty lips.

"Fuck-" you moan. Finally giving into your desires, you firmly grip the back of his head. You were gonna enjoy this.

Your hand on the back of his head keeps him steady, letting your hips fuck into his mouth forcing him to take the rest of you. A muffled gag coming from your mandalorian as you fill his mouth with yourself. Looking down, he looks so sweet with your cock in his mouth. His jaw spread open for you. Dribbles of saliva already escaping from the edges of his mouth. Long strings of lovely sounds come up from him. A repeated rhythm of choking, moaning, and wet sounds fill the crest as you fuck yourself as deep as you can down his throat. Din looks up at you with those warm brown puppy dog eyes, urging you to go harder, faster, rougher.

"That's it Sweet Boy. Take it. You're being so- so good for me."

Both your hands now find their way to his head. Your grip tightly pulls on his curls, already tousled. Now maneuvering his mouth to slide up and down your cock as you continue fucking his face. You bring him all the way down to the base, that pretty arched nose bumping against your skin.

Din finds reprieve in this. He loves when you use him, literally forcing him open, filling him with yourself. It's his own kind of worship. Filling his brain and body with nothing but you.

He needs this from you.