#bobakatan

Written for @bokatanweek

day 5: (alternate prompt) Flirting

The way Temuera Morrison says "princess" (and how that lines up with HanLeia) has been stuck in my head for eight months.

Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Boba Fett/Bo-Katan Kryze Characters: Boba Fett, Bo-Katan Kryze Additional Tags: Flirting, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Introspection, Frenemies, Bo-Katan Kryze Has Issues, Boba Fett Needs A Hug, bo-katan week, Ficlet Summary:

Boba and Bo-Katan share a moment in close quarters.

“Do I taste bitter to you?”

“Spread your legs again and I’ll tell you.”

Bo-Katan grinned, letting her knees fall open. “With pleasure.”

That night, many hours after Fett had hollowed her out with his tongue, Bo-Katan rode him into the mattress with the ‘saber at his throat. 

“The dead fucking weep,” she sneered at the sight. The planets Pre and his whole shabla clan would have moved … “Luckily for you, I’ve always liked your face.” She kissed him and forgot to be careful. 

Fett hissed. “You’re gonna leave a scar.”

“What’s one more.”

This began as a Banned Bingo fill for “excessive knife and gunplay” and because I wanted a sequel to my OT-era Bobakatan fic Su Cuy’gar. The writing stalled on a large cast strategy conference scene, but I definitely mean to finish, because I like its fusion of RepComm, Rebels, and Mandalorian S1 canon. It’s all my Mando fanon sewn up <3 

. . .

The second Death Star exploded as beautifully as the first. And this time, Palpatine had the generosity to be on station. Bo-Katan watched the Alliance holo again and again, and once more for those who’d never get the chance. It was wobbly, a rearcam view, but good enough to bring out the tihaar. And in her drinks, Bo-Katan loved a good airstrike.

Already weak, the clobbered Imperial garrison in Sundari grew desperate. There was no Saxon anymore — there hadn’t been for some years. Its frail leadership attracted the Imperial remnant like kreetles to a hemorrhaging corpse. Bo-Katan might not have minded. Let them come. Let them try to stake their claim to that wart in a wasteland. Our long-range missiles work even better on dirtside destroyers. But then a message came for her, from the only person who might still wrench Boba from her bed.

“Shysa begs an audience, chief,” said A’den, no fool in his choice of verbs.

“Then he can comm me himself, instead of greasing the servos with Fett-faced flattery.”

“He’s afraid of spooking the whelp. Knows how close you keep him.”

Bo-Katan didn’t bother to hide her disdain. She hoped the connection was strong enough for A’den to feel the chill. “If Shysa wants to speak to Boba, there’s nothing stopping him. Since he kindly wiped out the Imp comm station.” There’d been all sorts of interesting patter between Concordia and Keldabe lately, once you filtered through all the confabbing about meshgeroya fixtures.

“Naw, he has something that came for you. It’s ... unusual. Deserves special delivery.”

Bo-Katan frowned. The transmitter spike in the Imp’s transceiver was monitored. Closely. “We’ve not picked anything up.”

“Our spike is better than yours.”

“You gave me that spike!”

“As a present. And we have another one for you.”

Everything was in flux. Any mote might tip the scales. Bo-Katan swallowed her outrage and told herself that burning righteousness had its blindspots, and resentment tended to recrudesce there.

Shab, she really was starting to sound like her sister.

Making friends and keeping them: not a Kryze gift. But it helped that she and the Nulls shared a sense of humor, at least where one Fenn was concerned. “Shysa may have an audience whenever he wishes. Name the day and I’ll have everyone check their boots every hour on the hour, lest they step on him accidentally.”

Boba didn’t look up. “I’ve heard. Have fun with that.” 

She could admit some disappointment. Having him at her side might send the message home: the balance of power lay in Concordia. She had the ‘Saber, the Protectors, just as many clones, and the theoretical loyalty of every clan in the system; Shysa had some renegade veterans and the promise of a seat in whatever representative pipe dream the Alliance cooked up. 

The present felt like a fistful of detonite: held too tightly, regarded as too precious, it’d crumble feebly from her fingers. Bo-Katan needed somewhere to pack it in. “You made a pretty speech to me that first night,” she reminded Boba, recalling how his mouth had silenced upon her cunt.

“And I didn’t make it to Shysa. That’s as far as I’ll go.” 

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Boba Fett/Bo-Katan Kryze Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, Boba Fett, Ketsu Onyo, Null-12 | A'den Skirata, Null-7 | Mereel Skirata, RC-8015 | Fi Skirata, RC-5108/8843 | Corr Skirata, Fenn Rau Additional Tags: Rebels Compliant, Mandalore, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Fetts, Alliance Politics, Bounty Hunters, Survival, Past Hurt/Present Comfort, Hope, Yielding at the Edges, coming home, Honorable Mention: Fenn Shysa, Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019, Voiceteam 2020, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, Podfic, Resol'nare

It would be a salvage of magnificent proportions, said the barkeep, if you didn’t mind the reek of broiled Hutt. The bounty hunter did mind. But she waited all the same, nursing what passed for tihaar on Tatooine, for the first scavengers to return from across the Dune Sea. Sandcrawlers were always worth a rifle and she had nowhere in particular to be.

The Jawas wouldn’t discuss the terrain sensors or warped hull plates, but would she trade for these charred reliefs in the Huttese style? Or this set of humanoid armor, with a sarlacc’s half-digested meal still warm inside?