Archive of Our Own

Your bed consisting of a hard slab of metal and nothing else is really making you question why you ever said yes to the mysterious Mandalorian. You’re trying to sleep but you’re freezing cold. All you’re wearing is, what you assume, one of the Mandalorian’s long-sleeved thermal shirts, your underwear and a pair of thick, calf-length socks. 

Almost a year ago, the Mandalorian strolled into the cantina where you tended the bar. You were intimidated when he slowly came over and sat down in front of you...that is until he bent over and placed a tiny kid on the open bar next to him. If a huge man like him was carrying around this small, adorable child, how intimidating could he really be, even if he was a Mandalorian?

You wished you didn’t ask that question because he was actually worse than you could’ve imagined. He somehow quickly forced you into looking after his kid. If your mother could've seen you then, she’d have laughed in your face. (You don’t even think about how she would drop dead if she saw how you were with this kid now.) Back then, you were never fond of kids, you would even go as far as saying you hated them. Honestly, this could still be true now, but there was just something about this kid that felt different. Maybe you felt bad for him because he had to spend his time with this dickhead Mandalorian who spoke to you in such a condescending way that it made you feel miraculously small. You reluctantly agreed to look after the kid, unable to form even a thought to protest the Mandalorian.

It was only supposed to be for a few hours but then the suns went down. Then your shift was over. Then the cantina was closed. You stood outside its doors with this random child in your arms, unsure of what to do next. What if you went home and he came back looking for the kid? What if you came back later on in the day and the Mandalorian kills you on the spot? What if he just never came back and now you’re stuck with a child? 

You decided to wait it out. By the time you cleaned the place and locked up, the suns were already on the horizon and you didn’t really feel like dying today. You took a seat on the sandy ground outside the cantina and placed the kid in your lap. You didn’t know any better but he seemed to love you. He was constantly playing with a strand of your hair and making soft cooing sounds. You hadn’t stopped talking since the last of the patrons left. You were just talking at the poor thing but there was something in his eyes when he looked at you, almost like he understood everything you were saying. Not that you were really saying anything important, just about your job and your life and how you left your family on your home planet for Tatooine.

“I swear, I don’t regret coming here,” you said to the kid. 

The silence of morning seemed to make your voice sound even louder than it was.

The kid cocked his head to the side as if he didn’t believe what you were saying.

You scoffed at him, “I promise! Those people were only family through blood. There was no warmth there...no love. No real home. Nothing.” 

Suddenly someone was standing right in front of you, as if he appeared out of thin air. Your instinct was to grab tightly onto the child and shield him from the man but then you realized it was the Mandalorian. He was late and extremely dirty, but alive and there. You stood up to face him, still holding the kid.

The Mandalorian was quick and concise with his words as he spoke, “Sorry I’m late. Thanks. I’ll take him.”

When he reached out to take the kid from you, the kid started to cry. The Mandalorian had both his hands on the tiny bundle but the kid had an iron grip on your hair and every time the Mandalorian pulled on the kid, you went with him.

“How the fuck is this thing so strong?” you cried out as you got dragged forward for a third time.

The Mandalorian finally gave up. He grunted and you remember it sounding tinny and weird through his modulator but now it’s a familiar sound you hear more often than you’d like. As soon as the Mandalorian’s hands released the kid, the crying ceased. The kid looked up at you and his eyes seemed to grow bigger. They rivaled the size of his ears. The kid then took a look at the Mandalorian who, when he realized what was happening, let out a long sigh.

“Would you want to travel with us? Could use some help around the ship and with the kid,” the Mandalorian asked and, at the time, you couldn’t help but laugh. You couldn’t think of a more ridiculous scenario. You, fucking off and taking care of a child. It was almost comical but then, all it took was for you to look down at the kid in your arms. You knew that he had already given you something you never had before...a companion. So you said yes without a second thought.

Only, now you wish you had had a second thought. You were lying on your “bed” which was just a thick piece of metal. Your back hasn’t been the same since you boarded the Razor Crest. You didn’t even see the possibility of there being another “bed” somewhere so you wondered where Mando slept every night. You wouldn’t be surprised if he slept in the pilot seat in the cockpit. When you picture the Mandalorian, that’s where you see him...sitting in the cockpit. Although, when you’re lying awake on this god forsaken bed and you picture the Mandalorian, that’s not where you see him. 

There’s no denying that there’s just... something about him. You can’t tell if it’s the full-body armor. You can't tell if it’s the sound of his voice through the modulator in his helmet. You can’t tell if it’s the way he acts around the kid, which, by the way, is a complete sight to see. He becomes so soft and paternal whilst simultaneously looking like he could kill you. You can’t tell if it’s the way he literally does kill people who try to harm the kid or even you. When you can’t sleep like this, your mind pictures him right next to you, fucking you to oblivion or even just cuddling you...doing something, anything, to make this “bed” actually feel like one. 

This particular night is a bad one for you. You didn’t mean to but you overheard Mando singing to the kid. Yeah, singing. It was up there with one of the sexiest things you have ever seen him do, and he does plenty of those. You begin to touch yourself, making slow circles around your clit. You close your eyes and imagine it’s his hand doing it. You’ve decided in your imaginary sex with Mando that where with everything else in life he’s slow and careful, he’s quick and rough in bed. You speed up your fingers, almost embarrassed with yourself at how fast you’re able to work yourself up when you think of him. 

It’s happening. You’re right there when you hear a thud: two feet slamming down from the cockpit. 

You cease movement, remove your hand from your underwear, and turn so your back is facing him. You know you’ve done that all before he even turned to look at you. You are so used to him by now that you know exactly how he jumps down from the cockpit and how long it takes him to turn to look at you. It’s always the same. 

He calls your name, the sound so erotic through his modulator that it makes you clench your thighs together.

He calls it again and you remain still, pretending to be asleep.

He lets out an annoyed sigh, and you hate that it’s directed at you. “I know you’re awake. I can see your heart racing.”

You curse his Mandalorian helmet in your mind and turn around. You sit up and dangle your legs off the side of the bed. “Had a nightmare,” you offer weakly in his direction. It’s dark and you don’t have a night-vision, pulse-reading, Mandalorian helmet to help you.

He doesn’t notice your lie, or opts to ignore it and proceeds with what he initially came to you for, “It’s the kid. I can’t get him to sleep.”

You sigh and stand up. Mando is already turned away from you, walking back to the cockpit. This is almost an every night occurrence, only you’re usually not already “asleep” when Mando comes to get you. He climbs up the ladder into the cockpit and you follow after him. The kid’s pod is right at the top of the entrance. He practically screeches when he sees you. You pick him up and he immediately latches on to a lock of your hair.

“Mando, you’re gonna have to learn how to do this one day,” you say as you sit down in the chair to the right of him. You have the kid in your left arm, giving him a full show of the stars and planets flying by at hyperspeed.

All in one swift motion, Mando swivels his chair around to you and you pick your feet up and rest them on his legs. You guys have done this hundreds of times at this point in an attempt to get the kid to sleep. It always works. Sometimes, you and Mando don’t stop talking...well, sometimes you can’t stop talking. You find it easy to talk to him because you can’t see his face. He responds as if he cares about what you’re saying but his responses are just like they always are: brief. On rare occasions, Mando will tell you about the bounty he’s picked up that day or something about the Way of the Mandalore. Those are your favorite nights. Sometimes the three of you are so exhausted, you all instantly fall asleep. Most of the time, you just stay until the kid is asleep and then you go back down to your lovely hunk of metal. 

Mando leans his arm across your legs. His helmet is facing you but you can never tell if he’s actually looking at you. He could be watching the kid. He could be looking at the various knobs and switches behind your head. Hell, his eyes could be closed and you wouldn’t even have a clue. He doesn’t respond to your comment about learning to make the kid fall asleep.

The silence makes you take a look down at the kid and you see that his eyes are focused on the stars flying by. It’s only been a minute and you can already see that with every blink, he struggles with raising his eyelids again.

You decide to push your point again. “I’m serious, Mando. I won’t be here forever,” you finish this off with a smirk, knowing that it would provoke a response.

Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, “Where are you going?” His voice sounds curious, almost playful, as if he knows what you’re doing.

You shrug your right shoulder, making sure you don’t bother the kid. “I could die.”

Mando shakes his head and you could almost picture a smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

You’re not prepared for a response like that. You look away from him and feel your face getting warm. You look down at the kid, trying to hide your blush from the Mandalorian.

It’s quiet for a while. The kid’s fast asleep and when you look at him, a huge pang of sadness hits you right in the chest. You take a deep breath, wanting to speak but decide against it. 

Mando notices this because he sickeningly notices everything. It’s one of the things you hate most about him but also appreciate. He sees things you don’t pick up on, or sees things you might wish he didn’t. His arm that’s resting on your leg shifts so his hand grips your ankle lightly. “What?” he asks softly.

You’re forced to look back up at him and you give him a sad smile. While looking at him, you gather up the courage to speak what’s on your mind. In a small voice, not wanting to wake the kid, you ask:  “Do you ever think that the kid’s 50 years old? He’s 50 and still can’t speak. What will this be like in another 50 years? Will he be the same?” 

You pause. You know these are things that he doesn’t have the answer to but you’re still scared to go further. Of course, Mando catches on to this and he squeezes your ankle, encouraging you to continue.

“We won’t even be alive, will we?” You can’t stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. “Isn’t it crazy how he will be such a big part of our lives but we might only be a part of the tiniest fraction of his?” You look down at the kid, peacefully sleeping in your arms. “Will he even remember us?”

You pull your legs down from Mando’s lap and stand up. The tension in the air feels palpable and you can’t bear to look at his helmet and the consistent, unwavering gaze that you don’t even know is there. You turn and gently place the kid down in his pod and close the cover. You take a deep breath and rub your eyes, wiping away the tears you wished he didn’t see, before you turn back to Mando. You sit back down across from him and sigh. 

You’re not sure what came over you but you blurt out: “It’s times like this when I wish I had my own helmet so I could shield myself from you.” 

Mando stays quiet and you continue to babble on, gesturing to his armor, “You get this nice shiny helmet to hide you and your emotions from everyone around you but it just makes the rest of us feel like we’re presented to you on a silver platter.”

No response.

“I am essentially pouring my heart out right now, more vulnerable than I think I’ve ever been before and you just get to fucking hide." You’re fed up now and you’re not even sure how this change of mood happened. “I can’t even tell if you’re fucking looking at me when I’m forced to look into the void of your stupid helmet.”

You stop talking, promising yourself you won’t say anything more until he says something and you swear, if he doesn’t say something soon, you’re jumping down from this cockpit and welcoming that slab of metal like it’s a pile of feathers.

You end up staring right where you know his eyes are. 

He finally moves, leaning forward so his elbows are on his knees and his hands are clasped in front of him. What he says next makes all the air leave your body.

“I’m always looking at you.”

It’s your turn to be painfully silent. If someone had given you a hundred chances to guess what he would’ve said, you’re sure that would not have been one of your answers.

He continues, “Of course I know how to put the kid to bed but he won’t do it if it’s not you. I think it might be a body heat thing. You’re warm and, through all this beskar--,” he gestures down his body, “--I am not.”

You refuse to say a word. You’re scared that if you do, he’ll never continue talking. So you fiddle with your fingers in your lap and don’t remove your eyes from the spot where his would be. His last words tugged at your heartstrings. It’s so obvious that Mando loves the kid as if it were his own, but there must be a distance between the two of them. Hell, there must be a distance between Mando and every single person he’s ever come close with. Is it possible to truly know someone if you’ve never seen them? You’d like to think so because you’re pretty sure you know Mando pretty well at this point. But for a child? Can he understand the emotion that Mando feels for him? How can he see past the beskar helmet? The kid is obviously very protective of Mando. You remember him choking out Cara at just a friendly arm wrestle. But is there something missing?

Mando is still leaning forward and you swear he edges even closer before he resumes speaking. “The kid and I both don’t like it when you’re not here.” He stops and you can hear the intake of breath through his modulator. It’s almost as if he’s preparing himself to keep going. “It’s like there’s a piece missing when it isn’t the three of us.”

Your eyes widen at his words. For a man who is usually very curt and closed off, you’re shocked to hear these things. To explicitly know how he feels about you is almost too much for you to handle. Mando never freely gives up personal information or feelings unless you explicitly ask and even when you do, he doesn’t always answer. You recall a time when he did answer though. You had snagged a bottle of moonshine on some Outer Rim planet. Once back on the ship, you practically begged Mando to drink with you, promising you’d turn away when he wanted to drink but he vehemently denied the clear liquid you had already poured for him. You had shrugged and drank way too much for yourself but the night had ended just how it always did: the three of you in the cockpit. Your mind was racing, as it always was when you were around Mando but the heightened feelings from the alcohol partnered with the close proximity of the cockpit had lowered your common sense and raised your confidence. Your drunken self couldn’t be stopped and once the kid was asleep in his pod, you sat back down across from Mando, feet in his lap, and just blurted out, “What was your mom like?”

You would have bet a million credits that Mando only answered you because he believed you were too drunk to ever remember what his response was. But thankfully you do remember. After a few moments of silence where you took another long swig of moonshine, Mando began to talk and, for the first time since you knew him, you thought he might never stop. He described her so well you were able to conjure her immediately. Her tan skin that always radiated warmth, her brown hair that was soft to the touch, her deep brown eyes that always looked at him with such kindness and love, her screams as their village was blown to pieces, her final words to him, a painful “I love you.”

It had brought tears to your eyes and for a few minutes, you just sat there, looking into the void of his helmet for the millionth time, yet it seemed as if something had changed. The blunt ridges of his helmet didn’t feel as menacing as they always had. As you stared into the void of his helmet, you knew, for the first and only time ever, that he was looking right back at you. 

He was the one who had broken the somber silence, clearing his throat and tapping your ankle in his lap. He said, “Maybe that’s enough for tonight.” 

You knew he was talking about his sharing of emotions, but for his sake, you pretended he was talking about your drinking. So you stood up, agreeing with him and saying you didn’t want to push the hangover gods any further. Before you made your way down to your metal slab, you leaned your right hand on his left shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. You heard the sharp exhale through his modulator and it shattered your heart. You gave one last look into his dark helmet and wished him a goodnight.

After that moment, you started to understand the gravity of the relationship the three of you had. It seemed to click into place, what that feeling in your chest was when it was just you and the kid on the Crest, waiting for Mando to return from his latest bounty: It was the feeling of a puzzle piece missing, and everything only fell back into place when Mando returned to the ship in one piece.

Back in the present, Mando sits back in his chair, the T of his helmet is still faced towards you. Neither of you have spoken for at least a minute. You couldn’t even begin to form a cohesive sentence if you tried.

Mando clears his throat across from you, finally breaking the silence just as he did all those nights ago. “Alright, you want ‘vulnerable’?” He questioned as his hands clenched into fists on the rests of his chair. “Can you stand up and close your eyes?”

You hesitate at his request but you stand up anyway. You don’t close your eyes. You push back, as you always do with him, “I don’t see how this will make me less vulnerable.” 

He sighs, annoyed. You’ve heard this sigh many times although you haven’t been on the receiving end of it for a really long time. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

And you do with your whole life. So you close your eyes. You feel his hands grab your waist and he guides you closer towards him. You take a step forward and find yourself between his opened legs. 

His hands come around towards the front of your stomach and he grabs a hold onto your shirt. Before you can protest, he begins to rip it at the hem. He tears it all the way around, leaving the shirt a tattered mess. Instead of it hitting your thigh, it’s now up to the top of your underwear, making you even more vulnerable than before. 

With this piece of fabric, Mando reaches up and ties it around your eyes, making sure you’re unable to see if you want to and you’re so unsure of what’s going to happen, you welcome the darkness.

You reiterate, “I really don’t see how this is supposed to make me feel less vulnerable.” This sentiment is further felt when you feel his hands come back to your waist, only now they’re touching the bare skin at your sides instead of the fabric of your shirt.

“Will you shut up for just one second?” Mando says and you can’t help but smirk.

His hands leave your waist once again and you feel his body shift. You feel him reach around you, placing something on the chair you just vacated. Your heartbeat begins to race, unable to control your spiraling thoughts. What was that? What in the world could he have placed behind you?

His hands return to you, this time they’re clasping your hands. His palms are pressed against the back of your hands and he slowly begins to lift them. You’re so anxious at this point, you’re sure he can hear your heart beating. 

His hands are still on yours, guiding them to an unknown destination when your palms finally hit something warm. You flinch, unsure what it is you’re touching, which causes Mando to apply more pressure into your hands, forcing them to rest upon either side of something warm... his face.

You gasp and the tiny intake of breath is so loud in the small confines of the cockpit. 

Mando begins to move your hands around his face, up to his forehead. He drops his hands, giving you full reign to touch wherever you want. His hands find the back of your thighs, right underneath your ass and he pulls you even closer than you were before. 

You move your hands down from his forehead and your thumbs stroke his eyebrows. “Close your eyes,” your voice comes out, barely a whisper. When your thumbs make soft contact with the lids of his eyes, he lets out a long breath and you can’t help but think he’s been holding it in ever since you laid hands on him.

You wonder when was the last time someone had touched his face. You wonder if anyone has ever touched his face. Sadness surges through you as you try to imagine the sacrifices he makes every day in the name of the Way. You’re sure he is the most unselfish man in the entire galaxy.

Your thumbs lightly linger on his eyes for longer than you’d like to admit. “What color are they?” you croak out the question.

“Brown,” he states and you nearly miss Mando’s response because of the sound of his voice, unhindered by the modulator. It almost knocks you off your feet. His voice is strong as it always is but it lacks the hardness that’s provided by the modulator. It’s low and rough but simultaneously soft and you can’t wonder how that could be but you realize that’s exactly how Mando is as a person. Hard, cold, straightforward when he needs to be but also soft and gentle and kind when it comes to the child, or even you sometimes.

You can't help but release a small, helpless sound and you’re once again thinking about that drunken night. The blindfold gives you the confidence you need to ask this next question, “Are they like your mom’s?” Obviously they are in the color, but are they in kindness and love? Part of you thinks that’s insane to think this man who would kill people without a second thought could have love in his eyes but then you think of how unfair it is to put that on Mando. You’ve seen how he is with the kid and you would bet every credit in the galaxy that he looks at him with kindness and love, just like his mother.

The strangled sound that emits from Mando’s throat in response to your question almost makes you regret asking it. 

He stammers, “Y-you remember….?”

You nod your head in response. Your hands have returned to the sides of his face.

He lets out a long sigh and you feel the small breeze at the base of your neck. He answers, “Right now, I think they are exactly like my mother’s.”

Your heart almost bursts at his response. Tears immediately spring to your eyes and you are once again grateful for the blindfold, finally your own version of a helmet. You breathe in sharply through your nose and try to shake away these emotions you don’t want to feel. You resume exploring Mando’s face by sliding your right palm down the bridge of his nose. You bring it down along the curve of his chin and feel the bit of stubble that has accumulated there.

You bring your hands up into his hair. It’s soft and a little shaggy but not as long as it honestly could’ve been. It’s clear he cuts it every month or so. You tangle your fingers into it, loving the almost desperate moan that comes from Mando. You ask, “Brown, too?”

He nods and your hands move with him.

You slide your palms down the side of his face and onto his neck. You place your right palm on the back of his neck, holding him in place. Your left palm caresses where his adam’s apple is. “Say something,” you request.

Underneath your palm, you feel his adam’s apple rise up and fall back down as he swallows. You aren’t prepared to hear your name being uttered by this man without a modulator to distort it. His voice was so painfully soft, you didn’t know your name could ever sound so nice. You involuntarily clench your hand, holding tighter to his neck, trying to desperately feel what you can’t see.

“Again,” you almost beg but it doesn’t seem like you have to. He’s willing to do whatever you ask of him. He abides, saying your name again. And again. And again until it almost sounds like a prayer. Once again you can feel tears start to well in your eyes.

 Mando lowers his hands on your legs just a fraction and brings them forward so you’re forced to straddle his waist. 

You remove your hands from his neck and bring them back up to his face. You’re caressing him, hands once again on either cheek. In your new position, your faces are aligned. You don’t move your hands because you’re scared of what might happen next.

“Touch my lips,” Mando demands. 

Very quickly, you snap back to reality, realizing the gravity of what’s happening in this small space on the Razor Crest. Your hands are on the bare skin of a Mandalorian. You have known about them since you were a little kid and you never would have thought this was possible. Fuck, you’re still not even sure this is possible.

“Is this allowed?” you manage to ask in the smallest of voices. All at once, you begin to feel guilty. What if this discredits Mando? You know how much being a Mandalorian means to him and you wouldn’t know what to do if you were the reason he couldn’t follow the Way anymore.

Your hands move up and down with the answer to your question, a nod. 

“Loophole,” is all Mando says to you but that doesn’t make you feel any better. 

You begin to falter, your hands moving down to the cold beskar at his shoulders.

He sighs and you can’t help but get a little annoyed because you know he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He rests his hands on top of yours. “Stop thinking so loudly. I don’t need the helmet to know your heart is racing right now. I don’t need it to tell me how you’re feeling. I see it in the way you breathe, in the flush that creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. I see it in that small smile only reserved for the kid. I see it in your quirked eyebrow when you challenge me. I see you all the time and just this once, I want you to see me .” With those words he brings your hands back to the sides of his face. 

You realize just then that you would do absolutely anything this man asked of you without any hesitation.

You can’t help but rub your thumbs back and forth across his cheeks, loving the foreign feeling of another human being. You were aware he was human because a few months back he had a gnarly flesh wound on his arm and he forced you to figure out how to clean it and stitch it up. To this day, you’re unsure how you pulled that off. But it was the first time you ever saw his skin and he had lost so much blood, you weren’t even sure if he knew that you’d seen it. Afterwards, you asked if that was okay. He explained that it was fine because it was an emergency and it wasn’t his face. That was the first and last time you ever touched his skin, until now.

“Touch my lips,” he demands yet again and this time you obey, bringing your thumbs down to them.

Your thumbs are just resting on his lips, feeling the heat emitting from his quick and shallow breaths. You’re too scared to move them. After what feels like an eternity, Mando turns his head to the side ever so slightly and takes your right thumb into his mouth. You gasp once you feel the warmth of his tongue. Immediately, a sensation begins to form in the pit of your stomach. You can’t remember the last time you felt this aroused and, honestly, you’re sure you’ve never been so turned on in your entire life. It brings attention to the wetness between your thighs and you almost laugh at how you’ve been wet since the second you laid your hands on Mando.

He removes your thumb from his mouth and drops a soft kiss on it. 

As always, it’s like Mando can read your mind because his hand trails down to the heat between your legs. He slips two fingers under the hem of your underwear and gently drags them over your slit. A moan slips through your lips louder than you’d like to admit and you can feel Mando break out into a grin under your fingers. He repeats the motion again and you’re grateful for the barrier of his gloves because you’re sure you’d just melt into a puddle if his bare skin touched you there.

This fueled you to become more adventurous yourself. You ordered him to part his lips. You felt the movement under your thumbs of him obeying your request. It made you wonder what else you could tell him to do.

 While keeping your fingertips on his lips, you lean your head forward, using them as a guide for your own. 

As soon as your lips hit his, a moan rose in his throat. For a brief moment, his hand ceased movement in your underwear but your lips were on his and you didn’t even care.

Gods, you wanted to take it slow, you really did, but once you got a taste, you couldn’t slow down and, for the first time since you’d known him, the Mandalorian wasn’t taking his time either.

You licked into his mouth, unsure if this was even classified as a kiss or you just trying to taste him. 

The feeling of your tongue making contact with his brought him back to his senses. To your disappointment, Mando removed his hand completely from your underwear but you couldn’t even think about that because he shoved his tongue right into your mouth. His kiss was sloppy and wet and you couldn’t get enough of it. 

You involuntarily started to grind into Mando’s lap. You were embarrassed with how turned on you were when all you’d done is touch him. The only time you removed your lips from his is when you felt his fingers press against your clit, sans gloves. The pads of his fingers were rough and his skills didn’t go unnoticed. You let out the loudest moan yet, unable to handle the feeling of him against such an intimate part of yourself where only an hour ago you were touching and thinking of him. The thought made you laugh. 

Mando stopped all movement with his hand and you actually groaned in annoyance. 

“What are you laughing at?” Mando asked you. He didn’t sound insecure as if he thought you were laughing at him but he sounded genuinely curious. He wanted to know what was going through your mind.

You couldn't wipe the smile from your face as you confessed, “Before, when you came to get me to put the kid to bed, I was touching myself, wishing it was you.”

The sound that came from Mando almost sounded like a growl and it was the most erotic thing you had ever heard. Your response earned you another messy, hungry kiss that literally left you panting.

You parted your lips from him again as you asked, “Did you ever think we’d be here? With your hands in my pants and mine in your hair?” You brought your lips back down to him and reveled at the fact that you were able to do it.

He smiled underneath your lips and slightly pulled away from you so he could respond. “No, but I can’t say I haven’t thought of doing this hundreds of times before.” With that, he resumed movement on your clit and you silently thanked the gods he was exactly how you’d thought he’d be: fast.