Chapter Text
Luke hates needles.
He thinks it might be a childhood trauma or something. Anakin always tells the story of how, when Luke and Leia were getting their shots, Leia was calm as a cucumber and only cried a little bit after it, and every single time Luke was a crying mess. In his defense, those shots hurt, and if Luke gets teary eyed whenever he needs another vaccine or oh God needs to have his blood drawn, no one needs to know that.
Usually, it wouldn’t be a problem either. Sure, Luke does get a checkup every year and that involves getting his blood drawn, but it’s fine—usually. Leia comes with him and holds his hand, and if Luke ends up passing out, she makes sure he has enough food and water to get back up on his feet before driving both of them back. Really, once a year isn’t that bad…
Except here Luke is, sitting in a reclined chair, about to get a tattoo. Easy to say, he’s an anxious mess.
It doesn’t really help that his tattoo artist is Din Djarin, the hot single dad he’s been in love with the past few weeks, and the last thing Luke wants is to either pass out in front of him or God forbid cry.
He realizes he hasn’t really thought through this whole…getting a tattoo thing before Din sat him down on the chair. He was excited about hanging out with Din, excited about Din’s offer, that he completely forgot that getting a tattoo involves needles.
“You do know they’ll be stabbing you with a needle, right?” he remembers Leia saying at some point when Luke was too lost in thought to understand her properly. But really, Leia, you shouldn’t have said that when Luke was trying to design his Batman cupcake. How was he supposed to pay attention to anything when he was visualizing Din’s arms—tattoo, his tattoo—in front of his eyes?
It’s too late for that anyway. If he chickens out now, Din will think he’s a coward, and somehow that’s even worse than crying in front of Din. That doesn’t mean Luke is any less freaking out, but at least he isn’t going to jump out of the chair and run away.
“Luke.” He jumps when Din’s cold fingers fall onto his forearm, all shaved and ready for the tattoo—Luke stupidly told Din he could shave himself when Din asked and maybe he regrets that a little bit—and his eyes snap up. Din’s eyes are warm and he offers Luke a small smile. “You can still back out if you don’t want it.” And damn Luke wants to take that offer, but then Din squeezes his wrist, calloused fingers brushing the back of his hands, and Luke’s mind short circuits. He finds himself shaking his head no. Din’s smile widens and he squeezes again.
“It won’t hurt, right?” Luke blurts out when Din turns around again“It’s not that bad, right?”
“It’s still a needle, Luke.” Luke must’ve paled because Din laughs, leaning forward to tuck a strand of Luke’s hair behind his ear. And by God Din is too good at distracting Luke. “But I’ll make sure it hurts as little as possible. I promise.” Din moves his fingers to Luke’s arm, over the outline of the tattoo, fingers warm and firm.
And Luke really, really should stop thinking about those fingers being somewhere else, somewhere further down, because he’s wearing right light-colored jeans and there will be nothing to hide it if he gets hard right now. He shifts on the chair, hoping he just looks like he’s trying to make himself more comfortable, and hopes his crotch is outside of Din’s vision.
“You ready?” Din asks, the needle in his hand—fuck why is the damn tattoo machine too big and too loud?—and all Luke can do is nod because he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, all that will come out is a scream. Din smiles again, moving his free hand to Luke’s wrist, and places the needle on Luke’s skin.
Din wasn’t lying. It hurts, and the moment Din starts outlining the tattoo Luke has to look away, biting the inside of his cheek. Din has barely started drawing one of the twin suns and tears already prickle his eyes, and Din will probably think he’s a wimp now—
“You know, I was sixteen when I got my first tattoo,” Din says, voice soft, and his free hand moves down from Luke’s wrist. He curls his fingers around Luke’s hand, locking their fingers together, and Luke realizes in a moment that he wants Luke to squeeze. Luke’s pretty sure he cuts all circulation to Din’s fingers.
“I saw a tattoo on a friend. It was this really cool dragon on the back of his neck and he claimed it was permanent, he said it was painful but he sat through it and got it done. And, you know, I wanted one too.”
Din’s thumb moves to the back of Luke’s hand, brushing the knuckles lightly, and this time when Luke shivers it has nothing to do with the pain. He finds himself turning around, eyes on Din, and finds that there’s a small smile on Din’s face. His eyes are firmly focused on the tattoo—Luke can’t believe that all he drew are two circles and nothing else—and it’s clear he’s being careful with it, making sure every detail is correct, but he still continues.
“My mom wasn’t too opposed to it. She had this tattoo artist—she brought me there, let me pick a tattoo, and even told me which places would hurt the least. I had to put it somewhere I could hide easily because of school and all, so I chose my back. A dragon tattoo.” Din chuckles and shakes his head. “I know. You’re gonna say it’s a cliché. But I was a sixteen-year-old who really liked fantasy, and dragons were cool.” He stops for a second and his eyes find Luke’s.
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Luke whispers, voice only slightly choked with tears. Din arches a brow and a smile flickers on Luke’s face. “Okay, maybe it’s a bit of a cliché. But dragons are cool.”
“Yeah.” Din sighs and turns back to the tattoo. “Still. Would’ve been good to know that my friend’s tattoo was a fake. Wouldn’t have gotten one that early.”
Luke knows Din’s tattooing him, knows that the needle is on his skin right now and it kind of, sort of pricks, but a soft laugh escapes his lips. He loosens his grip around Din’s when a smile flickers on Din’s face, and for a moment he’s afraid Din will let go.
He doesn’t. Instead, he keeps brushing the back of Luke’s hand with his thumb, drawing absentminded circles, and every swipe sends a shiver up Luke’s arm. He can’t take his eyes off of Din, watching as Din leans closer to get a detail right, glasses down his nose and brows furrowed, and Luke thinks he looks absolutely charming when his tongue sticks out.
“At least your other tattoos aren’t too cliché,” Luke blurts out when he realizes he’s been staring at Din for the last minute and his eyes fall on Din’s arm. That, at least, is a safer place to look at than Din’s full, kissable lips.
Din chuckles softly. “You mean my janky tattoos that looks like I let a five year old use me as an art project?”
“Hey. They’re cute,” Luke says, defensive. “You’re like, a buff guy with a leather jacket and band t-shirts and a pretty face, and people think ‘oh wow, this guy probably has his arm covered in, like, super intense tattoos’, but then you remove your jacket and it’s an alien looking frog and wrestler Tinker Bell.” Luke’s voice trails off when Din stops and looks up, eyes amused. He presses his lips together. “I said all of that out loud, didn’t I?”
Din’s laugh fills the silent room. “Don’t worry. I’ll just chalk it up to the pain,” he says and Luke groans, head falling back onto the chair. Because really, even he can’t chalk it up to the pain—he even forgot Din was tattooing him even though he was literally watching the man do it, so starstruck by how Din looked when he was in his element. Din squeezes Luke’s hand with another chuckle and turns it around, moving to the other side of the tattoo.
Luke only has a second to feel disappointed when Din’s fingers slip off of his, and then they drop on Luke’s knee. Din’s eyes are firmly on the tattoo and Luke wonders if he did it intentionally or if his hand just slipped…
Until Din’s fingers start to move up. His brown eyes flicker up, meeting Luke’s, and he offers Luke a shy smile. “You good?” he asks, searching Luke’s face, and all Luke can answer with is a thin squeak. Din chuckles and turns back to the tattoo. “Gotta steady myself,” he murmurs, and Luke has no idea what Din moving his hand up and down have anything to do with steadying himself, but his heart is hammering in his chest, his face is flushed completely red, and all that escapes his mouth is a quiet squeal. Din laughs softly, fingertips squeezing Luke’s inner thigh before they crawl up, dangerously close to Luke’s crotch, and Luke is very glad Din has to watch the tattoo because there is no hiding the hardness pressing against his jeans.
Luke aches to shift, up and away from Din’s torturous touches—or down so Din’s fingers can finally move to where he desperately wants them to be—but Din’s grip on his thigh is firm. “Don’t move,” Din says, voice firm, and flashes Luke a small smile. “Don’t wanna mess up the tattoo, right?” And his tone says it all. The bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to Luke.
Din’s fingers move back down, brushing his inner thighs and gently parting Luke’s leg, his nails biting into the jeans every now and then, and Luke has to shut his eyes. He bites back a moan, clenching his fists on the arms of the chair. His cock twitches in his pants, growing harder by the second and soon enough there’s a discernible tent on his crotch, the jeans just too damn tight to hide it. Still, Luke lets Din part his legs because even through the thick fabric Din’s touches feels too good, and Luke would be lying if he didn’t imagine Din doing this at a different context, without this many clothes between them, calloused fingers brushing his bare skin…
Din moves his fingers to Luke’s other thigh, gently pushing it away so Luke’s legs are parted as much as the chair allows it, and continues his torturous touches. Luke has to clench his thighs to prevent himself from wriggling, his breathing labored, electricity shooting up his veins whenever Din stops to dig his nails lightly into the jeans. He moves them up and down, alternating legs, never quite high enough to reach Luke’s crotch but Luke is leaking already, and he’s sure there’s a wet spot on his underwear.
For the remainder of the time, Luke forgets that he’s even getting a tattoo, too focused on Din’s touches, his fingers clasped tightly around the arms of the chair to stay still. He doesn’t know how much time has passed when Din stops, moving the needle away from Luke’s skin. He keeps his hand on Luke’s thigh for a few seconds more before pulling it back.
Luke can’t help a soft whine that escapes his lips. He blinks his eyes open to find Din chuckling, putting the equipment back. He offers Luke a wide grin, already grabbing what he needs to wrap up the tattoo.
“Told you I’d be able to distract you,” he murmurs, voice husky and soft, and Luke presses his lips together to fight a groan. He shifts on the chair, one arm thrown over his crotch in a desperate attempt to hide his hard and neglected cock, even though he’s pretty sure Din noticed it all.
He narrows his eyes at Din. “Do you do that to all of your customers?” he asks and damn it his voice is too thin—he’s glad at least Leia isn’t there to make fun of him for that. Din wraps Luke’s tattoo and flashes him a smile.
“No. Just the pretty ones.” And any retort Luke might’ve given to that dies on his lips.
Once the tattoo is wrapped and Din explained to him how to take care of it for the next few days, Luke leaves. He’s pretty sure Din’s eyes traveled down his chest to his crotch multiple times, his lips twitching into a smile, and it doesn’t really help Luke that his eyes are dark under the dim light of the tattoo parlor as if Din is undressing him in his mind. Needless to say, he’s hot and red all over as he stumbles out of the shop, pants still uncomfortably tight around his crotch. He rushes into his car and only hesitates for one moment before he’s unbuttoning himself with shaky fingers.
It doesn’t take long to bring himself over the edge. He shuts his eyes, head fallen to the back of the seat, and imagines it’s Din’s fingers on his cock, slick and wet and warm, his callouses biting into the sensitive skin, and Luke comes with a muffled scream, brown eyes swimming in front of his vision.
Only when he comes down from his climax, his cum all over his clothes and hand, does he feel a flicker of shame curl in his gut. He groans and presses his forehead to the wheel.
If this is what it’s going to be like whenever Din touches him in any sort of way from now on, he’s so fucked.