#sw:tm

Mayfeld scans the entrance to the mess hall, casually standing guard as to not raise any alarm. He can hear the machine Mando is standing at counting down, 10 9 8 7.... Panic creeps up his esophagus, threatening his airways, claws digging in.

6 5 4...

Silence.

Mayfeld turns to look at Mando and he feels the passage finally close when he sees tousled brown curls. He has to look away, shaking his head gently. Fuck, why’s it s’hot in here? Shifting to lessen his unease, Mayfeld looks back at Mando. It’s like he can’t resist. From the corner of his eye he catches Valin Hess stand and address Mando.

Fuck, fuck!

Panic is replaced with heavy dread in his stomach as Mayfeld watches the Mandalorian turn to Hess. Even from his place at the door he can see the fear Mando is struggling to contain. It’s a stark difference between the Mando back on the prison ship and now.

This man, who has never shown his face to anyone since he swore the Creed, is now standing bare faced in the presence of Imperial scum, all the while Mayfeld cowers in fear of being recognized. He has to do something. If Mando can sacrifice everything to save his child, Mayfeld can stand up to this fucking Imp jerk.

Quickly and smoothly as he can, Mayfeld shimmies up and inserts himself into the conversation, easing the attention off the Mandalorian. One look from the mans surprised face and Mayfeld is hooked. He gets swallowed instantly in the deep abyss of Mandos eyes, dark and warm like storm clouds rolling in on a summer evening.

In that moment, Mayfeld was prepared to do anything to help this man get his son back.

The pair (read: Mayfeld) was able to schmooze their way through the conversation. Unfortunately, it took a dark turn when Mayfeld brought up Burning Kann, despite Mando quietly urging him away from the subject. All his past anger began festering and festering the longer Hess spoke. How could Mayfeld be so stupid, how could he think this man would recognize him when all he and all the other stormtroopers were just numbers. He let Mando reveal his face because Mayfeld was a coward. Tears began stinging his eyes. Not anymore he isn’t.

Fucking scum.

Mayfeld shoots Hess. Then shoots every bastard in the room.

Slowing his breathing he looks at Mando and hands his helmet back. He did what he had to and if it helped the Mandalorian get the little green guy back, so be it. Mayfeld can play it off and forget what he saw.

Never mind the jaw he wants to cut himself on or the stubble he wants to feel scrape his thig...

Mayfeld is jerked from his inner yearning by blaster fire ringing in his ears. Working together, the pair escaped and boarded Fetts ship. The older Mandalorian landed the vessel and left the two alone to get out of those hideous clothes, promising to monitor the perimeter.

The duo changed with their backs to each other in silence. Tension thick in the air.

Unbearably quiet, if Mayfeld was honest. He had to say something.

He stops removing the flight suit, stinky as it may be and spins on his heels. The words die in his throat when he finds Mando is already staring at him, most of his beskar back where it should be. Brown eyes burrowing into his own blue.

Quick to look away, Mayfeld drops his eyes to the metal floor. “Hey man, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to touch and feel and see everything that is this Mandalorian.

“There are rules.”

Mayfeld flinches. The Mandalorians voice is level and so soft. “You’ve seen my face.”

Mayfeld brings up his arms, a little worried. “I ain’t never seen your face, Mando. I swear it.”

“Din.” Is all he says in return.

Mayfeld looks up a little further in question, now looking at the others chest plate. The armor shining in the light coming through the large panes of glass. From this distance Mayfeld can see his warped reflection. If he wasn’t so uncomfortable he’d crack a wise-ass joke. But nows not the time.

“My name is Din, Din Djarin. Look at me.” He demands.

Fuck, Mayfeld is weak. Doing as he is told he raises his head up meeting Dins eyes. Warm, warm, warm.

Din steps closer. “By seeing my face you are bound to me by Mandalorian law.”

Mayfeld quirks a brow, hackles raising, his pale cheeks flush with embarrassment. “What, like a fucking servant?”

Mando shakes his head, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “More like a riduur.” Mayfeld is silent, Din takes it as a hint the other doesn’t understand. “Partner, cyar'ika, beloved.”

A lightbulb clicks on above Mayfelds head. His face burns now, as red as his beard.

Oh.

Mayfeld lowers the walls he was quickly building. The fear that was starting to claw again gets swept away in the relief that washes over him.

“Well damn, Mando, I thought you’d never say.” Mayfeld closes the gap between them and drags Din down by his curls into a hot, slow kiss. Quiet moans swirl around them in the silence of the ship, just Mayfeld and Din.

Finally pulling back for air, Mayfeld smiles at the other before he leans over to grab the silver helmet to place back on, stopping just above his nose to steal one more gentle kiss.