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“Hold still,” came the modulated voice behind your back.
You squirmed again as the needle punctured your skin despite the Mando’s demand.
“If you don’t hold still it’s gonna take even longer.”
“I said I was fine. This hurts worse than the wound itself. I don’t need stitches.”
The Mandalorian repositioned himself as he tried to add another stitch, causing his hand to push down on your shoulder roughly and pulling the wound on your upper back.
You hissed and swatted his hand away. “Damn it, Din.” Sitting up you pushed him away from the cot and stood. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a scratch.”
“It’s not a scratch. You took a knife to the back. Now sit.” His voice was stern. You watched as he pushed a crate in front of the cot. Putting a gloved hand on your shoulder he pushed you down to sit. He then swung a leg over the cot, straddling it.
You took a deep breath in but as quickly as it entered your lungs it left. You felt cold armor through the thin material of your shirt as the Mandalorian scooted into you. You could feel his hips line up with your back and felt his thighs resting against yours.
Din was quick to get back to work but only got in two more stitches before you felt him stop for a brief moment. Too distracted by the feeling of him pressed against you you didn’t hear the thud of a glove hit the floor.
When he went back to stitching your wound you shuddered at the feeling of his warm hands against your back.
“Stop. Moving,” he growled.
Gulping you felt his hips shift as he tried to reposition himself. A warm sensation filled your stomach and a warm puddle starts to form between your legs.
This wasn’t good. You only ever seen and felt the Mandalorian’s hands the other few times he’s had to stitch one of your wounds from a bounty. The feeling of his hips against your back and his strong thighs against you did things that you weren’t proud of. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about the man in the metal suit and the things you’d do if he let you.
A grunt from the man sitting behind you pulled you from your thoughts. You could feel the grunt through his entire frame and into your own. You wiggled. Again. Trying to scoot away from Din so he could just get the job done.
Growling at you Din placed his hands on your hips and pulled you back into him.
“Haar'chak! Stop moving cyar’ika” He all but whispered into your ear.
Not fully understanding what he said you tried your best to stop moving. The task seemed almost impossible as he continued to grunt with every stitch he pulled. And his warm hands… Maker those warm hands sent you crazy every time you’d see them. You would imagine them roaming your body. Imagined them between your legs at night instead of your own. One covering your mouth to keep you quiet as the child slept. How you dreamed of those hands. And everything else under the beskar armor. Stitching your wounds would probably be the only skin to skin contact you’d ever have with the mystery man.
You felt one more stitch be pulled through your skin and you winced, tears filling your eyes as he tied off the knot. It didn’t hurt that bad but if you didn’t move away from the man soon who knew how long you would be able to keep a moan from escaping your lips every time warm fingers brushed your back.
“There. You’re done,” The Mandalorian said, standing from the cot and making his way to the trash receptacle to throw away your bandages.
The rush of cold air against your back sent a ripple of bumps across your skin. You watched the Mandalorian as he made his way to the ladder and up to the cockpit and you could have sworn his pants looked tighter than usual.
Throwing your head back you let a quiet moan escape your lips.