#bobafennecdin

The one watching Din definitely wasn't.

Fennec surfaces from her feeding stupor with a growl. Something tugs at the meal between her jaws and her hands fasten across steel and armour, clutching tight.

"... nn?"

A weak moan trembles from the one under her tongue and she blinks to clear her vision of the euphoric stars and smears. Dark shadows move above her.

"Fenn?" Boba's modulated voice finally reaches her, and she tilts her head, hearing over-sensitised as all her senses commonly grow in this state. Blood trickles from her chin and she pants hard, fingers moving instinctively to stem the flow at her meal's neck.

Sweetheart. Morsel. No, Din. This is Din.

She presses harder and feels a sting of guilt at the pained whine from their pet, his helmeted head lolling on the stone with exhaustion.

"I'm going to back up," Boba says. "Put the big one in his room. You ready?"

Din barely responds when Fennec nudges him with the nose of her helmet and laving her tongue flat over the fresh bite on his neck.

"Fennec."

She glares up at Boba astride the crown of his prized rancor, thick chains still coiled in his glove. He is a vision that would make her mouth water if the thirst hadn't been slaked. But the beast's eyes are starting to droop and she doesn't want to still be under it when it decides to nap. Fine.

With her chest to Din's back, she wraps an arm protectively round his front and her other reaches down between his legs to clutch at his inner thigh.

The sound Din makes when the rancor pulls out is guttural and wounded and Fennec's stomach drops at the way Din startles alert, scent surging with pain, hands flying up to cling to her.

She purrs and hushes him even when she just wants to drink in the veritable gush of seed that streams from his cunt, unstoppered, knees drawing up protectively as the rancor retreats, and Din is shivering into a ball, whining, and Fennec doesn't have enough arms to wrap him up in the way she wants, she can't do this alone.

"Boba!"

Nobody stares as Boba marches through the halls of his palace with Fennec and her rifle at his heels, they have more self-preservation than that. Curled in his arms, Din is rigid and silent with pain, Boba can only imagine how he clenches his teeth behind his helmet.

It makes his heart pang. He promised to keep him-- them safe. All of them, under his roof. He never thought Din would resort to this.

For the first time in a long time, he's glad he wears a cloak, less for the modesty and more for the comfort it seemed to provide Din once he was wrapped in it, slumping into Boba's chest as he was pulled in.

"The hell were you thinking?" he grumbles under his breath, quickening his pace. Two more flights and then Din will be resting in bacta.

Having mistaken the accusation for her, Fennec retorts, "He was hungry."

He glares over his shoulder at her. "The rancor? The fucking rancor, Fenn?"

A terse beat of silence. "It hasn't been enough for him."

We haven't been enough.

Again, that ugly twist in Boba's chest that makes his stomach swoop. His mouth hardens in a scowl. It had just been a few days, Boba had needed to attend to political negotiations, recon with the water traders, Fennec and Din had their own missions, it was almost a return to how things were before.

This was not the homecoming he'd expected.

"This can't happen again." The rancor was precious to Boba, but it could have killed Din, and then... and then....

Fennec scoffs under her breath. "He doesn't take orders from us."

Boba stops and rounds on his second, watching her body language freeze, primed for whatever reprimand comes next. He watches her for a long moment, sees the moment she softens from living stone, wariness leaking from her edges.

"Maybe he should," Boba says.

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