#biap

You had never expected to find peaceful routine in a Mandalorian castle, and yet, as days drifted by and turned to a week, then two, routine found you. It was helped along by the fact that you were gradually coming to enjoy the privacy your new life afforded you. You found it was easier, in a paradoxical way, to keep yourself occupied if you accepted that no one actually cared whether you were doing something or not. Din's habit of solitude was slowly growing on you, and you began to enjoy the quiet.

While Din was away, which was nearly everyday now, you spent a lot of your time with Borda; taking meals together in the dining hall with whoever happened to be eating at the same time, or wandering along the cliffs on the coast, soaking in any moment of sunshine between the usually high winds and rain that battered the castle. You met other Mandalorians, too, although they rarely spoke much to you. But they greeted you politely when you met them in the halls and even offered to share food and drink if you were sitting nearby. The castle began to feel like home.

Whenever Din returned; for a day at a time, never more and usually less; he was shy. When you met him for dinner or in the afternoons, he stammered more, or was silent, until you coaxed his helmet off. If he arrived late at night, he snuck quietly into your bed and tried not to disturb you. Perhaps he thought your heart didn't pound every time your heard his filtered breathing fill your room, or that you didn't count every breath between the moment you heard the first sound of the door opening in the silence to the familiar, final hiss of his helmet that signalled he was just Din again. No longer a king, just a tired, lonely husband, climbing into bed next to his wife.

But this morning, Din managed not to wake you until you felt his weight on the mattress. You stirred when you felt him, but he kissed the back of your neck softly, as he always did. Not to wake you, but as part of a ritual he kept for himself. He wrapped one arm around your waist and sighed.

"You're back," you whispered, and felt him nod. "It's so early… did you fly all night?"

"I did. I'm leaving again tonight."

"Did you eat? I made something; I left it in the kitchen, I thought—"

"I did." His hand cupped your breast gently. "Thank you."

"You must be tired."

"I slept." He inhaled at the back of your neck, his face buried in your hair. "Just wanted to lie with you for a little while."

"Is that all you wanted?"

Once, you'd dreaded the idea of a man who might arrive at your room at any hour of the day or night and demand comfort in your arms. Now, you were forced to go days without Din's touch and spent every moment aching for him. But you never had to work very hard to earn his interest when he returned.

"I missed you," you whispered. You felt his whole body move when he inhaled sharply, and then hummed low in the back of his throat.

"I missed you, too."

You could feel how much in the way he touched you. You liked that you were learning him, recognizing each touch and sound and hitch of breath for what it was. Din pinned you against the bed and you whined when you felt his tongue on your neck, against your racing pulse.

Eager for any attention, you always followed wherever Din led, when he was home and in your bed again. Sometimes he kissed you and pushed his fingers into you, and then you would buck and squirm while he urged you on; sometimes he would stroke himself after, and let you watch as he ran his palm through your slick and then over his shaft, groaning softly when he finally spilled over. Twice, he had thrown your legs over his shoulders and instructed you to tap on his head if you wanted him to stop. Those nights had left you shaking, grateful and half-asleep, but feeling very selfish.

But this was your favourite, and even on such an early morning, Din was wide awake and greedy. His body, heavy and warm, surrounded you. Quiet and steady moans, whispered into each others mouths or against each others necks, bodies rolling together like you were trying to pull each other ever closer. The moment he finally worked his way inside and his hips met yours, and you could feel his fingertips digging into your thighs. You wanted to ask him to please just let go; thrilled and terrified in equal measure of what he might be capable of bringing out in you if he followed his instincts instead of restraining them. But there was always such comfort and relief in the way he held you, and your whole world righted itself when you were together.

Din let you finish first, and then at the last moment pulled away and spilled across your stomach, leaving you empty and gasping. After cleaning up, you curled together in bed again in silence. He would probably be gone again by the time you woke, pulled away by duty. You had begun to wonder how much of his precious time was spent travelling between planets, just so that he could sleep a few hours in your bed. When you were feeling particularly bitter, you hated that you had been matched with such a kind man and were forced to be apart for him, when so many women with awful husbands were together constantly. Then guilt would consume you: he'd travelled all night just to spend a few hours with you. You didn't deserve him and somehow, this distance and time apart was fate's attempt to correct the error by keeping him out of your reach. Round and round you followed your spiraling thoughts until you slipped into sleep, and when you woke up alone, the cycle of waiting began anew.