Archive of Our Own

Din’s thigh has taken a peculiar shape since he skimmed it with the darksabre. The bacta Paz applied when he arrived at the covert’s location—it still breaks his heart to know that only two survive—did its job in healing the burn, but it was a patch job at best. The scar tissue is now a permanent thing with its own complications of being too sensitive when met with direct force and also not whenever Din has the chance to wash off. It’s one of the largest scars on his body and a symbol of his new station in life—an exiled Mand’alor who cannot call himself Mandalorian any longer.

He supposes things take a brighter turn when Grogu returns to him—of his own will, livelier than ever after his brief stay with the jetii. He’s not sure what this is supposed to mean. There is still a great language barrier between him and his ad’ika, but he feels as if he can understand him better than before. That with a single touch from Grogu, he can understand how he feels and what he needs, and it’s so much better.

The matter of Mandalore and his state as a Mandalorian is another matter that is addressed in stages that take him to travel the vast reaches of space to Bo-Katan Kryze’s light cruiser and the other Mandalorians who have joined her. They have joined her because of him, this he knows because Kryze has lost a lot of favour with the remaining Mandalorians still alive. In losing the darksabre to an auretti and the subsequent downfall of her own clan and aliit, Kryze is not a well-liked individual, and she needs Din’s rather unknown reputation to show that she still can lead and armed force to reclaim Mandalore and repopulate it.

Which is its own concern as well.

Mandalore was bombed and glassed during the Night of a Thousand Tears. It’ll take significant terraforming to make the surface livable, and it just so happens that Din needs to be on the planet to bathe in the Living Waters of Mandalore to be redeemed in the eyes of his covert. There is no other way he can shake the notion of dar’manda from his soul. So he must carry on because there is nothing else he can do.

This is the Way.

And all that.

In the lead up to their advances on Mandalore and gathering their numbers—what few there are that still claim ownership over beskar’gam—Din is able to travel freely between Kryze’s cruiser and Tatooine, where he continues to fight alongside Boba Fett and his growing empire on Tatooine. It’ll still be a long way before he has full control of the Syndicates still vying for power on the planet, but it’s better now than it was.

Except for, well, the Marshal of the Mos Pelgo territories and the township of Freetown.

The townsfolk had hidden the condition of their Marshal after the shoot out with Cad Bane. Bane had killed their Deputy and nearly their Marshal, but Cobb Vanth clung to life like a stubborn sonovabitch and proved to everyone that he was made of sterner stuff. It was to Din’s regret that he couldn’t stay to see him out of the bacta pod. The man had lost his arm in the fight. The blaster shot had charred skin and bone to the point of it being irreparable, but Boba’s relations with a local Modder would mean that Cobb wouldn’t lose out fully.

But Din wouldn’t be there to see it.

He’d been in space with Grogu and his new ship, learning how to be and exist in this new state of being. One part of him feels as if he should be abandoning his armour. He is dar’manda. Who is he to claim his ownership over his beskar’gam? But another part of him believes he deserves it. He bled and broke bones for this armour. Did everything he could to support the covert so that everyone had what they needed in that moment. He deserves this armour. And the only reason why he survived the fight at Mos Espa was in part due to the armour. When the droid had him pinned and stomped on his already injured leg. He wouldn’t be walking if it weren’t for his beskar’gam, so he keeps it because he knows he can do more with it than without it.

But then one day, he has that moment of peace and stillness when he realizes he can visit Cobb Vanth if he so chooses to. He decides, then, to visit Freetown, but before he does, Boba stops him with a word of advice.

“You mean to see Vanth then?” he asks.

“I intend to.”

Din looks to see Boba and Fennec Shand share a look.

“What?” he asks. “Is something wrong with Freetown? With Vanth?” As far as he’d been aware, Vanth returned to Freetown whole and hale as well as someone could after losing an arm the way he did, but after that, it was either no news is good news or Din simply wasn’t told because he wasn’t on world and it didn’t matter, ultimately.

“Vanth,” Fennec says. “He’s gone, well, uncooperative.”

“What do you mean?” Din asks. “Is there still an agreement between you and—”

Boba holds up his hand. “It’s not as bleak as you’re thinking. There’s still an allyship between me and Freetown, but Vanth has formally removed himself from being the region’s representative.”

“He’s gone hermit on us,” Fennec says. “Can’t say I blame him, after how things went down with the Pykes.”

“One of his proteges acts on his behalf. Girl by the name of Jo. She’s certainly capable enough.”

“Has Cobb . . . said anything?” Din asks.

“Nope,” Fennec says. “I think he prefers it that way.”

“I can only assume Vanth himself doesn’t want to take part in this any longer,” Boba says. “If you’re still set on going to him, I wouldn’t want you to be taken by surprise when he might not be willing to receive visitors.”

It still does take Din by surprise that Cobb would be unwilling to continue his work with Boba for Freetown’s benefit. But now it’s an issue that Din needs to see to on his own.

“I’m going to Freetown,” he says. He then looks to Grogu at his feet, whose been settling in quite nicely. “Can I ask—”

“Yes,” Fennec says.

“We’ll take care of the womprat for you,” Boba says. “Take your time.”

Din nods. “Thank you.” He picks up Grogu and gives him a fond farewell, explaining that he’ll be back by the end of the day. He doesn’t think he’ll be gone long, but he doesn’t know for sure. He often loses track of time when he’s with Cobb.

Grogu seems to take this in stride, plus Din thinks he’s taken a liking to Boba.

He heads for the hangar after that for a speeder. He could take his Starfighter, but he wants more time, and the drive will clear his mind. Upon his arrival, nothing feels as if it’s changed. However, he does notice the construction in the middle of the town. A memorial for those who fell in the battle of Mos Espa and especially as a memorial to the fallen Deputy Scott. He hadn’t known the man long, but his death had probably been used as a warning for Cobb to stay out of it, or Bane would finish the job. Unless Bane had thought he’d killed Cobb there. It was all such a confusing time that Din hardly remembers outside of the pain and adrenaline-fueled fights he’d been thrown into.

Freetown, however, seems to be doing well for itself. It’s a bit busier than when he first happened upon it. He even spots a few Tuskens as well, likely coming into trade, but then he sees they’re holding slugthrowers. Guards maybe? They nod at him when he walks by and he returns it. Clearly, they know about him to respect him in that way as he steps up to the cantina to ask about Cobb’s whereabouts.

The Weequay proprietor, Taanti if he recalls correctly, is wiping down some glasses behind the bartop when he looks up, his lips parting as if in surprise to see Din here.

Din tries to think of what to say, but he’s at a loss. Last time he was here, he managed to get Cobb to agree to support Boba and it ended with him being shot and losing his arm. “I’m here to see the Marshal.”

Taanti tosses his cleaning rag onto the bar top. “You got some nerve showing up here, Mando.”

“I—”

“Taanti.”

Cobb emerges from the shadows at the back of the cantina. “It’s okay. Despite being Fett’s hound, I don’t think he’s here to cause harm. Are you?”

Where Cobb is usually affable and all smiles when Din happens to come around, he is stone faced and silent, sharp eyes fixing Din to the spot. The light from some of the lamps catch the glint of his new arm, and it takes Din aback to truly see the extent of his injury in this way. While he knows the Mods are capable of great work, he’s not sure how well Cobb has come with adapting to the prosthetic, especially when he lost his dominant arm.

After a moment of Din’s silence, Cobb jerks his head to the side. “Join me for a drink, why don’t you?”

Din nods and follows Cobb back to the corner of the cantina, far in the shadows and low lamp light for some semblance of privacy, but Din feels Taanti’s gaze on him the entire way.

He sits across from Cobb as he serves up two servings of spotchka. “S’pose we never had a chance to celebrate our win now, did we?” He smiles, but there’s something bitter in the way the corner of his mouth lifts before he knocks his glass against Din’s untouched one and swallows back the liquor. Din then takes his glass and tips his helmet up enough to sip it. He doesn’t have a taste for spotchka, and he rarely has the time to indulge in stuff like this, so he refrains from drinking further.

Cobb taps a finger from his metal hand against the rim of his glass. He stares at Din for a good while before speaking. “So how’s it been, Mando? Truly, since you left n’ all. D’you ever get your kid back?”

“I have,” Din says. “He chose me, in the end, and remains at Boba’s palace for the time being.”

“So’s that your plan then? Work for Fett?”

“For now.”

Cobb hums and pours himself another serving, and Din wonders how long he’s been going at it. If he’s not representing the town and region, then how many other duties as he given up? Fennec said he was a hermit, reclusive. What else has happened to him?

“So what then, Mando? You come to take something else from me? Seeing as you already took the armour, took my arm. I’m beginning to think that every time you walk into town, I have to make concessions to keep the peace. To keep the town and its inhabitants safe. So I’m gonna ask you again, Mando.” He leans in with his elbows planted on the table. “What am I gonna give you now?”

The tone is biting, one of a deep-seated anger that’s been left to fester ever since Cobb was awoken from the bacta pod.

Din has to look away, drop his gaze to the table. “I’m not here to ask anything of you. I came to see you.”

Cobb smirks. “Came to see me? As what? A friend?”

Din thought that, yes, he’d be welcomed as a friend. He didn’t think Cobb would hold so much animosity towards him.

“Look, Mando.” Din looks up. Cobb suddenly grins, as if in disbelief before he smooths a hand over his mouth and beard, scratching at his chin before he looks at Din. “I don’t know what it is about you. Why you keep comin’ here in that shiny get up of yours, free to come and go as you please and a whole host of people willin’ to bend over backwards to help you when you need it. So what’s a rusty gun slinger like me go to offer a man who’s got everything at his fingertips?”

It's a touch of jealousy that makes Din start to see this situation for what it is. While he’s vaguely aware of Cobb’s history as a slave and the things he’s had to do to fight for his freedom and that of others, he can only imagine what Cobb may be thinking of now. Seeing a Mandalorian bounty hunter walk into his town and dictate a negotiation for armour that he traded for and used in good faither to keep his people safe and then to return again, months later, only to do the same thing and this time Cobb’s deputy is killed in action and Cobb is left alive as a message at the cost of his arm.

As a man who’s been forced to concede everything about him until he fought for his freedom, Din understands what this situation looks like.

“I’m not here to ask anything of you,” Din says, but Cobb snorts and rolls his eyes. “Instead, I am . . . here to offer restitution.”

“Restitution,” Cobb says. “Interesting word.”

“I . . . it’s my own offer. Fett is not a part of this arrangement.”

“And what arrangement is this?”

Din isn’t sure what he’s attempting here. He didn’t come prepared to offer Cobb anything, only to have a conversation with him like they have done in the past. “That’s up to you,” Din says, because what can he offer to Cobb who has already given so much? So much so that it’s only Cobb who can give him direction here, offer something that Din can give him without question.

Cobb swallows the last of his spotchka. “That’s a mighty generous offer, partner. Someone less reputable might take advantage of that.”

“That’s why I trust you to make the right call.”

Cobb hums before sitting back in his seat. “Tell you what, Mando. I might be willing to carry this conversation on in a different setting. And seein’ as my folk are a bit hesitant when you’re around, I think you should come back later. Come back after the suns fall. My house is just on the outskirts of town. Find me there.”

He stands from the table and Din mirrors him. “Of course. Thank you for hearing me out.”

Cobb grins, something like his former self rising to the surface. “Don’t thank me yet, Mando. I’m not as nice as you seem to think.”

Regardless, Din hopes that when he returns later tonight that he’ll be able to speak to Cobb more genuinely without any of the town interfering or overhearing. It seems like that’s what Cobb is asking for.

But it still leaves Din with a question: what exactly is Cobb wanting from him and is Din willing to give it?

He leaves the town after that and decides to travel to a local band of Tuskens and check in with them to see if they have any thoughts on Boba and the syndicates in the area and Freetown. Afterwards, he sits on a ridge, feet up on his speeder and overlooking a long-dried valley that’s a common bantha train trail. He contemplates removing his helmet. No one is around for miles. What would it matter if he were to remove his helmet? He is an apostate, dar’manda, learning how to be himself with the constant struggle of his heritage.

He shouldn’t be wearing the armour, and yet—

He thinks he has something to give to Cobb. Give to him willingly that he has only ever given to one person before.

He returns to the Mos Pelgo territories and the outskirts of Freetown by nightfall. He finds Cobb’s household, constructed into the side a rocky ridge that juts out of the land, sunken into the ground. The light outside the front door is on, and Din spots Cobb’s speeder, tucked into a shed around the side of the ridge. He leaves his own speeder there and walks towards the door. He feels the weight of each step he takes, the pull of gravity upon him as he gets closer and closer before he’s descending the stairs to the front door.

He knows, because that’s only polite, and a moment later the door opens.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Cobb says.

“I make good on my word.”

“We’ll see.”

He turns and Din follows him into the house.

It’s a rather modest space, by Tatooine standards. Freetown still shows its age by relying on stilted buildings, not only because of the krayt dragon, but because it’s easier to move pre-built habitats to a location than going through the work of building beneath ground.

The house is neatly kept. There’s a small sitting area off to his left and to the right a small kitchenette with a table that has two chairs. Beyond that is another hallway, which likely leads to the bedroom.

The sitting room is sparsely kept with a colourfully woven blanket over the back of the couch and a few flimsi books on the caf table. There’s a small repair kit sitting on the couch itself, and Cobb has his right sleeve pushed up to his elbow. He was likely working on his right arm, tightening a screw or performing maintenance.

“So, Mando,” Cobb says, walking around the back of the couch before taking a seat on it. He picks up a screwdriver and pops a panel on the underside of his wrist before tightening a screw. “You had something to give me. Why don’t you tell me all about that?”

It puts Din on the spot, something he wasn’t prepared for, but he put himself into this situation. He just wished that Cobb would be upfront with him.

“There seems to be a discretion based on our past dealings,” Din says, aiming to be diplomatic about this. “That you gave more than you should have. I would like . . . to repay the debt.”

Cobb smiles and then snickers before curling the fingers of his right hand into his palm before releasing. “That’s a mighty steep price. I got this arm here because Fett was feelin’ guilty, I suppose.” He turns the screwdriver and grunts with exertion before setting it aside and closing the panel on his wrist. He rotates his wrist, and Din can hear the servos whirr as he does. “But I didn’t offer up my services and my town to Fett.” He shakes his head. “I offered them to you, didn’t I?” He regards Din with a careful frown, like he’s not sure what to do with Din now that he’s here. “And you didn’t have the courtesy to stay and see if I lived.”

“I . . .” He wants to defend himself. He had thought, at first, that Cobb had been killed. That had been the impression, but he lived! Truly, it was something to be relieved about, and yet, Din hadn’t been there when he’d awoken. He’d been off with Grogu, settling other loose ends in his life before he was able to return. But—

“You’re right. I didn’t stay to see the job truly finished. To see that you were okay.”

“Lucky, ain’t it, that your friend Fett had a bacta pod.”

“I guess.”

Cobb hums.

“But,” Din says. “I have something I can offer. Something I hope you can understand for the weight it carries.”

Cobb flicks his fingers in Din’s direction. “Go on.”

Din breathes out slowly. He raises his hands to his helmet and releases the neck seal and begins to lift it before Cobb says, “Stop.” Din sets his helmet back in place and drops his hands.

Cobb is staring at him intently, studying him in a way that makes Din’s skin crawl in a way that he can’t decipher is good or bad. “Come here,” he says, beckoning Din forward with his metal fingers and Din takes three steps towards the couch before he’s standing before Cobb. “If I asked,” Cobb asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Would you get on your knees for me? Just here. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Din repeats.

He’s not sure what that’s supposed to mean in this context, but he does as he’s told, easing himself onto his knees and sitting back on his heels and leaves in a point of looking up at Cobb.

Cobb looks over him in a moment of silence before unfolding his arms and reaching for Din’s helmet himself. Din reacts on instinct the moment Cobb’s hands come to touch it. Cobb raises a brow when Din grabs his wrists. He doesn’t move and doesn’t speak and lets the moment rest with Din’s decision. Does he want Cobb to remove the helmet himself or not?

Slowly, Din lets go and sets his hands on his knees.

Then Cobb lifts off his helmet.

The cool air of Cobb’s home hits his face and he closes his eyes on instinct. He has never had someone remove his helmet for him other than IG-11. He has never wanted someone to remove his helmet and up until recently, he would rather consider death than have his helmet be taken from him.

But then Grogu and the prospect of losing him, of never fully accepting him as his ad.

And now here with Cobb when Din is offering up his identity, his very soul as retribution for the things he asked from Cobb and the things he took from him.

He opens his eyes and looks up at Cobb, his helmet off to the side on the couch, and Din digs his fingers into his knees before relaxing.

He tries not to show how visibly nervous he is, sitting here before Cobb’s critical gaze, but he has lived his entire life in the expectation that he would never be seen like this. As he is. Just a fragile human beneath a beskar shell. Just the boy he once was before the droids came and burned everything to the ground.

He wonders if Cobb realizes the weight of this decision, to literally put himself into Cobb’s hands and have him decide how this plays out.

Something he wished he would’ve received from the Armourer instead of strict banishment and given an impossible task.

“Would it bother you to know if people think about what you look under your helmet?” Cobb asks.

“No,” Din says. “But they seem to misunderstand that my relationship with my armour is sacrosanct.”

“As you told me yourself, all those months ago. Tell me, would you have killed me the day you strolled into town if the krayt dragon hadn’t distracted us?”

Din sighs. “Yes.”

Cobb snorts. “At least you’re honest.” He hooks his metal fingers into the front of Din’s breastplate and pulls him forward. Din rises up on his knees, and Cobb leans in close until Din can feel his breath on his face. “How do you think this is going to go, partner?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“What are you prepared to do?”

“Anything. I said—”

“I know what you said, but men of less repute than I would’ve taken advantage of you by now. Left you feelin’ good and sorry for yourself, so tell me, Mando, what are you prepared to do?”

He’s so close that Din can see the multitude of colours in his eyes. The lines of his face, the silvers and grays of his hair and beard.

He has always thought of Cobb as a particularly beautiful man to look at, but his own reservations and way of life made it nearly impossible to act on his desires.

“You lost your arm,” Din says. “Wouldn’t you like to take your pound of flesh from someone else?”

Cobb breathes out and his pupils dilate. “That what you want?” His fingers tighten on the breastplate.

“It’s what you deserve.”

Cobb then cups Din’s chin with his left hand, making it so Din can’t duck his gaze even if he wished to. “I ain’t gonna be nice about this.”

“I’m not expecting you to be.”

Cobb grins. “Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

“I thought you said I was an honest man.”

Cobb hums. “If that’s how you want it.”

He kisses Din, and Din tries to sit back, unaccustomed to the motion and Cobb’s aggressive push, but Cobb hauls him back, and Din can only give him what he wants. He parts his lips. He tilts his head. He takes Cobb’s lips and teeth and tongue and lets Cobb take as he pleases because this is about giving him retribution. Repaying the debt. And this is such a small price to pay.

When Cobb sits back, letting go of Din’s breastplate, he grins and stretches his arms behind his head, spreading his legs as he does. Din sits back on his heels, lips slick with spit and nearly buzzing from the kiss itself. He can’t help but look up at Cobb, starting from where his gaze it settled, at the apex of his legs before settling on his face and seeing Cobb’s desire there.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” he asks.

Din frowns. “What—”

“Payin’ for something with intimacy. I think you know what it’s like to pay with your body. Bein’ a bounty hunter n’ all, but intimacy.” He grins and drops his left hand to his groin and rubs himself. Din swallows. He wants to look away, but he doesn’t think he should. “Intimacy’s a whole different game. They want you for your warm body, for the pleasure you can give them in lieu of payment because maybe that’s all you got to give and maybe that’s all they want in return. You ever fucked anyone before, Mando?”

“I, yes, a few times.”

“A few?”

“Well.” He’s never had to give accounts of his sexual trysts. There had been Paz in the covert when they were still training to be beroya. But that relationship had fell by the wayside and had been a moment of proximity more than mutual affection.

There hadn’t been anyone Din wanted to settle with or even consider it. A family was a luxury, and intimacy went along with it. What Cobb is asking of him here is—well, is he ready to give it?

“There’s never been time for anything more than a night. Or an hour,” he says.

“And yet,” Cobb says with a chuckle, “you came here to roll over and show your belly to settle a debt? Is that right?”

“Whatever you—”

“Whatever I want, I know, but do you understand what you’re givin’? What I’m going to take from you? Because when I start, partner, oh, I’m not going to stop.”

It’s now or never, Din realizes. He needs to commit or leave because Cobb will take what he wants, and Din—Din wants to give him that. He wants to give him everything and bare himself and show Cobb that he is sorry that this happened.

That he didn’t stay. That he wasn’t there when Cobb awoke. That he wasn’t there to help the town as he recovered. That he didn’t do anything at all other than ask Cobb to lend a hand in Boba’s war that Cobb had been hesitant in getting into in the first place and for good reason.

Cobb didn’t have the armour.

And Cad Bane nearly killed him for it.

He nods. “Let me give it.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t go back on my word.”

Cobb hums. “Good enough.” He drops a hand and tugs on Din’s breastplate. “This. Take it off. Take it all off.” He leans in. “And be neat about it.” He kisses Din again, stealing his breath and his ability to think.

Then Cobb is standing up and moving around Din, leaving him on his knees so he can pull of his gloves and work at the straps of his armour. Piece by piece, it comes loose from his body and he sets it aside, on the caf table in a neat line before he gets to his feet so he can remove his boots.

“Flight suit, too,” Cobb says from across the room. He’s stepping back into the kitchen with a small box held in his hand. “I want to see what I’m working with.”

Din pulls down the zipper at the front of the suit and pushes it off his shoulders to let it drop to his waist before working his legs out one at a time. Meanwhile, Cobb watches him. Serves himself a glass of water and watches it all as Din folds the flight suit and sets it aside.

He stands there in the thin undershirt and pants he wears beneath the suit. He’s never been so bare before someone else like this. Fucking has always been a matter of getting undressed enough to get his dick out. No one’s ever required this of him before.

Cobb sets the empty glass aside with a stern thunk before pushing away from the counter and taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. He works at his belt and the front of his work jeans, and it’s clear now, the sight of his arousal of the bulge between his thighs.

Has he thought of Cobb this way before? Did he ever imagine what he would feel like? Taste like? Did he ever imagine the shape of his body beneath the armour and his clothes? He stands before Din, bare chested with his pants loose at his hips, and Din finds it hard to believe that anyone would ever underestimate Cobb when he’s like this. With broad shoulders and a firm abdomen, a hard life exists within the muscles and scars visible upon his body, and Din almost feels ill prepared to go further.

What will Cobb see in him? Does he like what he sees? Is he any good at all?

Cool metal fingers tilt his head up. “Look at that,” he says. “You are good at doing as you’re told, aren’t you?” His thumb passes over Din’s lower lip and he shivers at the touch. “Ask for it.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t play silly with me, darlin’. Ask.”

Din swallows. “I want you to fuck me.”

Cobb grins. “Is that right?”

He nods and licks his lips. “Yeah.”

Cobb hauls him forward to kiss him and Din steadies himself with a hand on Cobb’s hip, only holding lightly unless if that were not to be allowed. He’s not fully sure of the rules here, but he’s sure Cobb will tell him what to do regardless. For now, he lets himself be kissed and directed and—

“Unh.”

He groans when Cobb’s left hand drops to his groin and squeezes him through his thin pants. He’s sensitive to the touch, so his cock swells at the attention and he can’t help but roll his hips into Cobb’s inviting palm.

“Oh, you like that?” Cobb asks, biting Din’s lower lip that’s just on the edge of too much. He’s forced back and back and back until he’s up against the wall, leaving him pinned so Cobb can take his fill of him, grope him through his bants.

“Feel good?” Cobb asks.

“Ca-aub.”

“Mmm. That’s what I like to hear. Can’t wait to bend you over and split you open. Bet you’d like that wouldn’t you.”

He thinks of it, especially when Cobb presses close and Din can feel him against his hip, bumping up against him as Din settles into the cradle of Cobb’s hand.

Cobb kisses him against, and Din grows bolder, grabbing onto the belt loops of Cobb’s trousers and tugging him close as Cobb feels him through his pants. He feels Cobb smile against his lips as Din tries to keep kissing him. He wants to keep kissing him, but Cobb sets his metal hand on his chest and pushes him back, holds him there against the wall.

“You got a talented mouth, Mando,” Cobb says. “Should’a figured when you came in talkin’ of truces and negotiatin’ with the Tuskens.” He raises his hand and there are the fingers again, cool against his lower lip and pulling it down to expose his teeth. “Wonder what else you might be able to do with it.”

Din parts his lips and Cobb slips his thumb in. All Din can taste is metal as Cobb’s thumb presses against his tongue. Then Cobb removes his finger.

“Clothes,” he says. “Off. I want to see you. All of you. See what I’m workin’ with.”

He pulls away entirely and Din has to catch his breath. He presses his hands against the wall behind him to steady himself before pushing away and pulling at the hem of his shirt. Just as before, he folds everything, stripping it all away layer by layer until his heated skin is fully embraced by the cool air of Cobb’s home.

He can see him all now. All his scars. The uneven texture of skin upon his thigh. The way his cock ever so lightly curves to the left when its aroused. The softness of his abdomen as it wraps over the muscle beneath it. Cauterized and stitched scars from a lifetime of bitter war and struggle.

Cobb comes sweeping in with his jeans still sat enticingly on his hips, and Din almost raises his hands to cover himself in some way, cross his arms over his chest. His skin prickles at the proximity and how utterly bare he is.

Well. There is no way for him to hide now.

Cobb stretches out his prosthetic and gently grazes the scar on his thigh. “What’s this from?” He sounds more serious than he has the entire night.

“A weapon,” Din says. He can hardly feel Cobb’s fingers at all. The nerves are largely numb in that part of his leg now. Cobb hums before he runs his hands over Din’s body as he stands there for his viewing pleasure. Cobb tweaks a nipple and Din makes a sound in the back of his throat.

“Sensitive?” Cobb asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh?” He twists his nipple gently and Din hisses, but his cock throbs. “Gonna have to test that out for you then, aren’t we?”

He spends a moment kissing Din and getting him to press in close before Cobb pulls away and presses two fingers of his prosthetic against Din’s lower lip and utters, “Suck.”

Din parts his lips and lets the fingers in. He’s not sure what he should be doing, how to make it feel good but then—

Cobb laughs. “How’s that taste, Mando? Can’t feel kark with this arm. Guess I should be lucky at all that I got a replacement for free. But I bet it tastes good, right? Taste of metal like that. How smooth it feels. All those gaps between the plating and mechanics. Mm. You look like you’re havin’ a good time, now ain’t you? Bet you’re used to the taste of metal.”

Din feels himself flush.

“Suck ‘em like you love ‘em,” Cobb says. “Get them wet. Get them soaking.”

Din laves his tongue around the metal fingers. They’re too unforgiving as they sit there heavily on his tongue. He can feel the weight of them on his teeth, and he has to be careful so he doesn’t hurt himself, but he tries to do as he’s told, gathering spit in his mouth to coat them as sloppy as he could. Cobb pulls his hand out, dragging his fingers down over his lip, leaving a trail of shiny spit down to over his chin.

“Bet no one’s ever wrecked you before,” Cobb says.

Din doesn’t know what to make of that statement, but Cobb smirks at his frown.

“Oh, Mando. I’ll make sure it’s as good for you as it will be for me.”

Then he sets his hand on the back of Din’s neck and forces him over the back of the couch. Din’s breath stills in his lungs as he feels Cobb’s hands on him, the warm flesh and the cold metal, tracing down his spine until they come to rest on his ass. He feels a nudge against his leg from Cobb’s own and he moves it further along the ground, spreading his stance until Cobb hums.

“Much better. Ain’t you a sight.” Cobb’s palm slaps against his ass and Din rocks with it. “Yeah. You like that, don’t you? Like the pain. Like givin’ it all up.”

Din doesn’t know if this is a true assessment, but the burst of heat against his skin when Cobb had hit him centered him, made him snap back to focus and feel that Cobb is now rubbing his spit-soaked fingers against Din’s ass, at the furl of his hole.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’. You’re in good hands now, aren’t you?”

The first breach is odd, and a groan rises up from Din’s chest, seeping through his parted lips. It’s far too smooth, a touch too cold, and too hard, too solid, but Cobb presses in further with one finger and works it in steadily, stretching Din and getting him used to the feeling of being penetrated.

He never has been before. He’s not sure what to expect and he doesn’t know what to say to this effect, so he keeps quiet except for the small moans that come from him, because while it is an unfamiliar sensation, it is growing to be quite pleasurable.

Then Cobb presses in with two fingers, and the stretch is a lot more. Din breathes out with it, shifting his left foot even further to accommodate it because that only feels like the right thing to do.

The third finger has Din sink his fingers into the cushions of the couch. The stretch is unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, and he knows, eventually, that the metal will be replaced with hard flesh, and he can see it in his mind’s eye now. Cobb grabbing onto his hips and shoving his cock into Din and fucking him for all he’s worth.

“Wish I could feel you more,” Cobb muses. “Instead, I got this to deal with.” His fingers spread Din further and Din groans loud, trying to stifle the sound by biting in his lip. “Oh, don’t hold back now, darlin’. I just got you where I want you.”

“Cobb,” he says, the tone of which is soft and almost fearful. He doesn’t know what to expect and he needs something.

Cobb shushes him. He feels his hand on his hip, rubbing soothingly before he brings it around front to stroke his half-hard dick. Cobb hums, and Din feels himself growing interested again, rocking back slightly against his fingers and then into his hand.

“There you go. Needed something more, didn’t you?”

It’s something better. It feels better, and he thinks he could come just like this, with three of Cobb’s metal fingers up his ass and his hand on his dick. This slow, burning pleasure as Cobb’s fingers bump up against something inside of him that makes his dick twitch.

“Oh.” Cobb chuckles. “Did I find your prostate there, darlin’? Bet that’s never gotten a good rub before. Let’s just—there we go.” His fingers press up against that spot again, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and Din can feel himself getting slick, getting wet, precum dribbling down over Cobb’s fingers as he holds his dick in his other hand and strokes so slowly up and down his dick.

He feels it burning low in his gut, that crest, that wave that he wants to blanket him. He closes his eyes with it, gives into that feeling before Cobb drags his hand down to the root of his cock and squeezes just enough to make Din moan.

The fingers leave him, and he feels empty, oddly enough.

“Hold on,” Cobb says. “You think I’m going to leave you so soon? And give up such a sweet gift like this?” He chuckles. “I plan to take more than that, darlin’.”

Din can’t be certain what Cobb is doing behind him, and he doesn’t want to look over his shoulder to confirm what’s happening. He doesn’t know if it’ll be better if he sees, if he knows more of what will happen to him. And before he can even convince himself to look back at Cobb, he feels something blunt press against him and then in him.

“Ah-hha.”

“That’s it. Oh, you’re a tight one.”

He can feel it all the way in his throat, the pit of his stomach. Cobb’s cock as it stretches him and molds him for his own use. He feels big, but Din has nothing to compare it to. He feels Cobb’s hands on him, soothing over his back and his hips.

“Take it real slow and breathe,” Cobb says. “I know. It’s a lot, but you should see this. How well you’re takin’ me.” He feels Cobb’s breath ghost over the shell of his ear, his hips now flush his ass. “Like you were made for me.”

Then he’s pulling back, inch by inch, before pressing back in, and it’s just as much as the first time.

Eventually, Cobb drops his speech, his words and instead focuses on using Din’s body as he has presented it. The slick slide of his cock into Din’s body, Cobb’s grunts and the tightening of his fingers on Din’s hips. His cock drags against his prostate, and Din moans helplessly at the friction of it. He still holds onto the couch, leaving his own cock neglected because he knows if he touches himself, he’ll come quickly. And he wants this moment to last.

take me take me take me

He wants Cobb to cover his body with his own. He wants to be so fully immersed into Cobb that they’ll never be separated. He has ached for him in a way he has never ached before.

The longing makes his eyes damp. He realizes he has so many things he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how to say them or if they’ll be received.

How can he convey how much Cobb means to him? How much his own near death had gutted Din there on the streets of Mos Espa, thinking he was dead and gone.

When he’s not even sure if Cobb would return that sentiment?

“So fucking good,” Cobb says, picking up the pace of his thrusts, filling Din again and again.

“Cobb,” he says again.

“Yeah? You like that? You like it when I fuck you?”

“Please?” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for.

“Ain’t you a sweet thing. If I could—hh—I’d keep you here. Keep you satisfied and—mm—comin’ back for more. Force, you’d look pretty in my bed.” He licks the shell of Din’s ear and then Din feels a hand in his hair, pulling his head back as Cobb thrusts all the harder.

Yes, he wants that. He wants it all. He wants to be taken to Cobb’s bed and he wants to be made a fixture in it. Maybe there this place will become the place of his penance where he will make restitutions for his failings.

His inability to uphold his Creed.

His inability to wield the darksabre.

His inability to be a good friend.

He takes.

He takes and he takes and people like Cobb, they suffer in the aftermath.

“Just like that,” Cobb says. “Feel so fucking good.”

His thrusts become erratic, harsher, his cock stabbing against Din’s prostate until it’s damn near painful. The constant pressure with no release as his cock weeps onto the floor.

Then Cobb is stilling, thrusting once, twice, and then—

He moans, a sound deep in his chest, and his hips come to rest against Din’s ass and the hand in his hair slowly lets go until Cobb’s hands are skimming over his back again—the contrast between flesh and metal oddly soothing.

But then Cobb pulls back. He pulls out, and that warmth that came with him disappears from Din’s back. He looks over his shoulder, turns his head to the side, and Cobb is walking off, his pants still slung around his hips. But with his back to Din, he can see the scarring on his body. The whip scars. The horrific star shaped brand.

He doesn’t look back at Din. He goes to the kitchen to poor himself a drink and leans against the counter.

Din rests his head against the couch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His cock is still hard between his legs, but the pleasure is already fading. He brings a hand down to stroke himself, smearing the precum at the tip over his head, and sighing.

His orgasm feels like a dirty, unwanted thing. Not even something Cobb wanted to see to completion because it didn’t matter to Cobb.

He’s left to his own devices now, and due to Cobb’s silence, he thinks it’s time to leave.

He dresses, fetches his folded clothing, and replaces everything piece by piece until he’s standing at the door with his helmet held in his hands. He doesn’t want to put it on yet.

“Heading out then,” Cobb says with his bare back to Din still.

“Yes. I need to return to the palace.”

“And then?” This time Cobb looks over his shoulder at him just slightly.

“I don’t know,” Din says.

Cobb hums and returns to his drink.

Din sighs and turns to the door with his helmet held in both hands. He looks down at the visor and wonders what it might be like to go out into the world without it anymore. If he could live that life. He sighs, but before he can put it in place, he’s pulled back by the neck of his flight suit, turned, and pushed up against the wall.

Cobb’s lips are on him fast, teeth and tongue set upon Din’s in a way that’s asking for blood but never takes it. When they part, Cobb says, “You’re coming back to me. And if you don’t, I’m gonna drag you back myself. Hunt you down.”

“Yes,” Din breathes. “Please.”

“That all you got to say?” Cobb kisses him, presses his tongue between Din’s lips.

“I’ll come back,” Din says against his lips, daring to look at Cobb’s eyes and wishing he could’ve held onto him just a moment longer.

Cobb smiles, this little hungry smile that says Din will live to regret this. “’course you will, darlin’.” He lifts a hand to stroke his cheek with his prosthetic. “Did you think you were done payin’ your debt so soon?”

He kisses Din, almost chastely upon the lips.

“Now get,” Cobb says. “It’s a long ride to the palace.”

He falls away from Din, back into the kitchen, and this time Din takes his helmet. He puts it on. And then he climbs the stairs from Cobb’s little house beneath the rock and mounts his speeder.

The ache between his legs is unfamiliar. Everything is unfamiliar, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do now. Who he’s supposed to be.

But so long as Cobb gives him meaning, he supposes he has a purpose.