#trans cobb

hope you enjoy ;~) and i know din has a helmet on in my fic but i could not help myself 😳

“Sorry,” Din manages, forcing the words out from behind the cage of his teeth, gritted to try and keep more of his pleas trapped inside his chest.

“Don’t apologise.” He can almost picture the short jab of Cobb’s hand, his fingers curling towards his palm with the pointer extends like a school teacher. “I’ve not been kind to you, leaving you in such a state while I ramble on.”

The other man’s words sharpen then stretch, his accent becoming more pronounced the longer he spoke, and Din’s hips twitch, the motion pulling a gasp from him, sparks pooling in his belly.

“Are you wearing it for me?”

“Yes,” Din gasps, and his hips roll again. He feels his cock press against the unyielding curve of his codpiece, the pressure building like a wave that threatened to drown him before it ebbs once more, cut off by the ring locked around his base. The noise that tears from his throat is high and gasping, trembling as badly as he is as he curls forward, his hands curled into claws on the armrests of the chair.

“You’re making such beautiful noises for me, darlin’.” Cobb shifts, fabric rustling down the comms before he stops, a pained gasp hissing into static. Din starts, sitting up straighter in his seat, his own want momentarily forgotten as worry replaces the heady warmth in his veins.

“I’m fine. Just knocked my ankle.” Cobb laughs and continues to adjust himself before a familiar sigh echoes through the comm link and Din’s head spins.

He knows that sound well, and the accompanying soft melodic scratch of rough hands over fabric. Cobb had reached down and began to rub himself through the fabric of his trousers, not yet pushing inside to run his fingers through his own slick and bare the pale pink flesh of his cunt to the world, but beginning to start banking his own pleasure.

“I wish I could be there with you.” Cobb sounds mournful but resigned, his breath hitching at random intervals as he spoke and the muscles in Din’s thighs lock and relax, urging him to move, to do something. “Gonna have to tell me what you’re doing, sweetheart.”

Din tries to find the words again, but they’re lost in a hissing sea of static and the thunderous drumbeat of his heart in his ears. Worry spikes again, but Cobb seems to read his thoughts, soothing him with a low rumbling exhale.

“Where are you now? Have you got your armour on?”

“In the pilot’s chair.” Din shifts, the pool of heat in his belly reigniting with the slight movement and he bites back the urge to do it again. “Still got my beskar on.”

“Bounty go alright?”

Din nods, catches himself and replies. “Yes.” He pauses, catching the edge of his tongue between his teeth, the action hidden behind his helmet despite Cobb not being able to see him through the comms. “I wish you were here with me.”

Cobb croons, the sound reflexive and Din feels himself relax, the last sharp edge of tension from his mission ebbing from his shoulders. “I know, darlin’, I know. But I’m no good to anyone right now.”

Cobb’s frustration was clear, punctuated by a low groan bitten off as his fingers dig deeper into the warm swell around his entrance. Din knew his groans, his sighs, knew how to work Cobb’s body as well as one of his weapons, and he grew impossibly harder, pleasure coarsing through him even as the sensation was soured by the twist of remembered fear in his throat.

It had been an accident, a single misstep on scaffolding that was wrapped around one side of the building, but the sound of Cobb’s yell — cut off by the cracking thud as he hit the floor — would haunt Din. A broken ankle had been a lucky escape given what could have happened, but, as Din drew nearer, Cobb had been already trying to stand, one ankle bent at an angle that made bile rise in the Mandalorian’s throat, and flinched away from him.

Later, when Cobb’s ankle had been bound and his eyes were clear of the dark reflexive fear, he had spoke around the bone-deep dread all slaves held of being injured and killed because of it.

“You still with me, Din?”

“Yeah.” Din drags his thoughts back to the present, letting the pressure of his beskar against his shoulders ground him. “I want to continue.”

He waits, focusing on the low hiss of static over the comms, wondering what Cobb was doing at that moment. Was he sprawled over their bed, trousers discarded in preparation of the call, his underwear the same soft red as his scarf and beginning to darken beneath his fingers? Was he stretched over the plush chair Din carried through the wastes tied to the back of his speeder, one leg tucked beneath him as the other hung free, his hand disappearing into the hollow between his thighs?

“Okay. Can you take off your armour for me? And hands off your cock.”

Din hisses his agreement, his hands trembling against the fastenings of his armour as his fingers slip on the catches. Time seems to slow, the world narrowing down to the bite of the clasps as they slowly peel apart, exposing burning skin to the cold expanse of the cockpit. Shivers roll down his spine, across the nape of his neck and through his forearms, his skin pebbling, but he ignored the tremours, dragging an old towel from the copilot seat and placing it beneath him before sitting back down.

His cock seemed to pulse with every frantic beat of his heart, hanging heavy against one thigh and held by the silver ring wrapped around the base. Din’s fingers twitch towards it, aching to try and relieve some of the pressure building in his belly, but he curls his fingers away, dragging them through the scratchy stubble high on his cheeks.

“I’m ready.”

Cobb sighs and groans again, deliberately drawing it out until the sound was barely a whisper. “You’re being so good for me, keeping your hands to yourself while I’m already soaked.”

Din groans, his mouth watering. He wants to bury his face between Cobb’s thighs and lick the slick from him until he could drown in it. He wants to mouth along the harsh curve of Cobb’s thigh — all wiry muscle and the sharp jut of his tendons — until the other man is shaking with want and drags Din’s face back to his cunt. He wants to watch Cobb fall apart above and around him again and again and again.

“Got you that fruit you like,” Din gasps, revelling in full-throated purr his words elicit from Cobb. His hips twitch, his cock hardening once more now free from the confines of his armour. It rested against his thigh, hot and heavy, leaving tacky smears against his dark hairs.

“You’re so good to me.” Cobb cuts himself with a groan, low and full-throated, and Din can just make out the gentle wet sound as Cobb presses his fingers into himself, the crooked digits curling further to press into his heat. “Gonna have me as round as Arda if you get your way, and she’s having the twins.”

Din’s groan tears from his throat, surprising him with it’s intensity as heat burns through his stomach. He isn’t coming, the ring around his base stops that, but he can feel the wave rise within him, towering and unstoppable.

“Oh?” Cobb’s grin is clear in his voice before he continues, clearer and louder than before, the static buzz around his words missing. “You like that thought?”

Din nods helpless, his mouth falling open in a wet gasp. His nails bite into the arms of the chair as his hips roll, seeking any form of friction. It hadn’t been something he had considered before even if he was painfully aware of the Mandalorian stereotypes when it came to taking in foundlings. Now that Cobb had raised it, he couldn’t pull his thoughts away from burying himself inside Cobb and watching it take root, seeing his belly swell and knowing it was because of him.

“Don’t want to—”

Cobb cut him off, clicking his tongue in the same manner he used to settle the banthas. “If I was uncomfortable with it, love, I wouldn’t have brought it up. Okay? A baby in me isn’t going to make me any less of a man.

“I’m good with talking you over the edge with this, if you want to try?”

“Can we talk about it when I’m back?”

“Of course.”

Din settled back into his seat with a sigh, the new knowledge settling across his shoulders and only adding to the bite of pleasure in his chest. “‘M ready.”

The rustling of fabric echoed down the comm, before the familiar slick sound of fingers pressing into Cobb flowed forth.

“Doing such a good job keeping yourself ready and waiting for me.” Cobb’s words are broken and ragged. Din can picture him, his heels bracing against the bed as his hips press against his fingers, the slick running down his wrist. The tendons in his thighs would lock, the uneven muscle cut through by scar tissue, before he would settle after his peak, only to continue, until he was trembling and exhausted. He was beautiful normally, but when he was blissed out and liquid, he was even more stunning.

“What are you doing now?” Din’s voice was harsh, cutting through the air. He wanted to touch himself, but Cobb had him transfixed.

“Fucking myself on my fingers. It’s not enough. It’s not the same as you.” Cobb groans, the sound twisting through a familiar edge that Din knows means he’s close. “When you get back, I’m going to ride you until my ankle heals up. Touch yourself.”

Din is moving before Cobb’s words catch up to him, his fingers curling around his cock and he is lost, pleasure burning through him. He is aware, dimly, as if listening from a thousand miles away, that he is speaking, pleas and praise falling from his lips. His peak comes suddenly, crashing into him like a punch, but it is hollow, falling short from quelling the unstoppable fire in his belly. Cobb gasps as he comes, the sudden silence as his breath cuts off as loud as a shout.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” Din trails his fingers down his sweat-soaked thigh, listening to Cobb breathe. He is still hard, the ring cutting off his orgasm once more. “I’ll be home soon.”