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Din’s not entirely sure how it happens.
Yes, he and Boba have been circling each other for a while. Din had been pleased to learn a few weeks ago that Boba was, in fact, attracted to him, although this feeling was quickly dampened by the fact that it seemed like attraction was as far as Boba’s feelings went.
Din had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t let their new dynamic grow into anything. It wouldn’t be fair-- to himself, or to Boba. Because Din was hopelessly, pathetically, in love with Boba Fett.
And Boba Fett was not in love with him.
It was obvious. Boba was-- well, Boba. He hadn’t changed since Din met him. While Din suddenly found himself stumbling over his words and pining like a youngling whenever Boba was in the same room as him, Boba seemed frustratingly unaffected. Even Fennec had commented on it. “Should I buy the leash or are you going to wait for him to get it for you?” She had asked with a snort after watching Din stare at Boba for far too long as he sat at the bar, chatting with a prospective business partner, completely oblivious to Din's pining.
But then Boba started making moves. They were small at first-- friendly pats on the shoulder that evolved into lingering touches that drifted lower and lower, whispered praises into his comm link whenever he did a good job that transformed into filthy compliments that only Din could hear, offers for a drink or two (or three) in his quarters after court that turned into this-- them pressed against each other, Din messily kissing up and down Boba’s neck as the other moaned, holding Din’s helmet in place as Din bit along his scarred skin.
This is a bad idea, Din manages to think to himself as Boba drags Din towards him again, their lips crashing together. A very bad idea. But it felt so good. And it’s been so long since Din had done this with anyone, let alone someone he actually liked. Running from the Empire and getting a son didn’t exactly leave a lot of time for pleasure. And once Din had spent more time with Boba, he hadn’t been interested in rolling around in bed with anyone else, although offers had been made.
Din’s thoughts turn hazy as Boba tugs Din’s gloves off so he could pop his fingers into his mouth, causing Din’s cock to jerk in his disheveled flightsuit. Boba-- strong, confident, powerful-- attracted many, and Din had seen him flirt with constituents before, a sly grin across his face as he placed his broad hand on their knees and whispered what Din could only assume were sweet nothings in their ears, ignoring Din who stood by the doorway burning with shame and jealousy, keeping guard as he always did. “You’re too kriffing loyal,” Peli had scoffed the last time he broached the subject with her, and Din wasn’t sure what to make of that. Of course he was loyal. Boba deserved all his loyalty and more. Why was that a bad thing?
Even now, it was clear that Boba was far from out of practice. As Din fumbled at Boba’s belt, Boba deftly removed it with one hand, the other gripping the back of Din’s head, his tongue sliding into his mouth with ease. I don’t care, though, Din tells himself, although he knows he’s not exactly thinking straight. This is still more than I ever thought I would get with him.
Din pulls back so he can breathe, his helmet sliding back over his mouth. He licks his lips, feeling how swollen they are. Panting, Boba tugs off Din’s cape, exposing his neck for him to suck and nibble on. Din can feel Boba’s hardness under his robes, and his mouth waters, imagining the Daimyo pulling it out for Din to hold in his mouth, for him to suck on and worship. Din can feel its size, and the thought of the ache it would leave behind makes him drool. He pulls away from Boba who lets out a grumble of annoyance before sliding to his knees, pawing for the opening in Boba’s robe, feeling the heat and the hardness of his cock, feeling his own dribble precum into his flightsuit, feeling like both the luckiest man in the galaxy and the biggest kriffing idiot at the same time.
And then Din feels two fingers hook underneath his helmet and he’s being all but dragged back up, Boba’s hands moving to position Din onto his lap. Din is far too big to be sitting in anyone's lap, but Boba manages to hold him there, somehow making it comfortable.
“What’s wrong?” Din asks, confused, his voice already hoarse with need. Was Boba not into that? That was fine, they could pleasure themselves in other ways. Din’s hand creeps towards Boba’s cock again, but Boba catches his hand in his own, lacing their fingers together and giving Din’s hand a squeeze.
“Hold on. Not yet.”
Din swallows a whine, trying to focus. Boba presses their foreheads together, and Din leans into it, his eyes sliding closed, trying not to rut against Boba’s leg. “Not until marriage.”
Din’s eyes fly open. “What?”
Boba leans back with an amused snort, a smile playing on the corner of his lips. “Not until marriage,” he repeats, and Din stills, sobering up himself, blinking, trying to process Boba’s words.
“I… didn’t take you for a virgin,” Din blurts finally, unable to think of anything else to say.
Boba throws his head back and laughs, his eyes crinkling in a way that Din finds beautiful. He’s too confused now to take note as he usually does, however. He wonders what Boba finds so funny. “Oh, Din,” Boba gasps once he’s gathered himself. “I’m not a virgin. I’ve been married and divorced around… oh, I don’t know, fifty times?”
Under his helmet, Din blanches. “You’re not serious.”
Boba lets out a hum, leaning over Din to rummage through the table he has next to his bed. “Listen, Din. I was raised on certain values. I wasn’t with my father very long, but I was with him long enough for him to instill some important lessons onto me.” Din stares at Boba, still unable to understand what he’s saying. Boba continues to shift through the pile of papers and pads, his brow furrowing as he continues to talk.
“One of these lessons is that before two creatures go at it, they should be married first. Call it… having family values. Ah-- here they are!”
Din blinks as Boba unceremoniously pulls out and holds up a thick sheet of cream colored paper. He squints at it. “That’s a marriage certificate.”
“Very observant.” Boba presses it into Din’s hands, and Din takes it more on instinct than anything else. The paper feels smooth in his hands. Din looks back up at Boba, who’s dangling a pen in front of Din’s face, smirking. “For you.” Din’s mouth falls open, the fact that Boba was, in fact, being serious finally starting to sink in.
“Boba, I can’t--”
Boba cups Din’s cock with his free hand and squeezes.
Hard.
Din’s thoughts scatter.
“Where do I sign?”
-----
Din wakes up the next morning to the sun streaming through onto his face, the beam piercing even through the helmet’s visor. “Nnnngh,” he lets out, rolling away from the light, and burying his face in the pillow he was leaning on before. A warm pillow. A firm pillow. A warm, firm pillow that was moving in a weird way. Almost like it was breathing.
What the hell?
Din quickly sits up, opening his eyes and staring down at the chest that he had formerly been using as a sun blocker. A chest that belongs to Boba. Boba, who was currently rubbing his eyes with a sleepy groan, sitting up himself.
Right. Sex. They had sex last night. Really, really good sex. And before that--
Din’s heart kicks painfully in his chest and he stares wide eyed at Boba, who was still waking up, letting out a jaw creaking yawn. Before that Boba had made him sign a marriage certificate. They were married. Boba was his husband. Dank farrik.
“Morning,” Boba says, his voice husky with sleep. He glances over at the windows, frowning. “Ah. I’m late. Fennec’s going to be pissed.”
Din hesitates, waiting. Waiting for Boba to say something about last night. About the hastily scribbled signature Din had put on the waiting certificate. About what Boba said usually happens after that. I’ve been married and divorced around… oh, I don’t know, fifty times? Din’s throat feels tight, and he finds it suddenly hard to swallow. The gravity of what they did last night is finally settling in. They did the married part. Now comes the next part. Divorce. Idiot, he hisses to himself. This is why he had told himself he wasn’t going to do anything like this. But last night had been so good. Boba had said all the right things, had touched him in all the right places, and Din had never expected marriage to be a part of it.
Boba, of course, doesn’t seem bothered whatsoever. Of course, Din tells himself. He’s had a lot of practice. He fully expects Boba to lean into the same drawer and pull out a matching divorce paper now that they're both awake.
Instead Boba leans over to press a kiss onto Din’s exposed shoulder, not seeming to notice Din’s panic, before sliding out of bed and disappearing into the fresher, leaving Din on the bed to wonder what the hell was wrong with himself.
What happened to not letting this grow into anything? He berated himself, wishing he could take his helmet off so he could pull at his hair and perhaps scream into a pillow like a normal, panicked adult.
You could take it off, he told himself, just slightly hysterical. Boba’s your husband. Don’t you want to show your face to your husband?
Din’s not sure how long he sits there, frozen, trying to wrap his head around the situation. He sits there long enough for Boba to emerge from the fresher, stretching his arms above his head. Immediately, his droids surround him with his armor, helping him into it. Boba finally notices Din’s stillness and frowns at him. “Everything alright?”
“I--” Din starts, then stops, his voice rough from emotion. Boba waves at a droid who scampers over to Din with a glass of water. Din takes it, turning away to tilt his helmet up just enough to drink from it. Not that it matters, he thinks sourly. I had it up last night, didn’t I? Boba had finally let Din suck his dick, Din remembers now, before he returned the favor and then some. The thought of it all makes Din flush and he quickly drops his helmet, using it as a feeble shield.
“Thank you,” he tells the droid weakly, and it beeps happily at him. “Boba, we need to--” Boba’s comm suddenly chirps, and Boba swears. “That’ll be Fennec. I have to go. Come down after you’re ready?”
Din nods and Boba quickly exits, placing his helmet over his head as he does so, and Din sits there for a while, staring down at his bare hands. He feels exposed, dirty. Yes, he’s had sex before, but not like this. It was always on backwater planets, in dim rooms where he would unbuckle his belt and shove down his flightsuit just enough for whatever creature was in the room with him to get him off. He always felt sticky with guilt after, but it’s been years since he gave into those urges. He’s never had feelings for anyone who had touched him like that before. This was all new. And wrong.
Eventually he pulls himself up and heads to the fresher himself, allowing himself the luxury of a water shower as he gathers his thoughts. I can’t let this go on, he tells himself. He would ask Boba for the divorce today instead of waiting for Boba to bring it up himself. Clearly Boba had his own way of doing this. He had practically told Din as much last night. But it was obvious that Boba’s past marriages had never involved feelings before. Din was an anomaly, one that he was sure would be an unwelcome one if Boba was to ever find out.
No, he needed to end this. The sooner the better.
And then I can go back to pining from a safe distance, he thinks miserably as he gets out of the shower to change. The droids beeped inquisitively at him, shuffling towards his armor, but he shakes his head, steeling himself as he suits up. I can do this, he tells himself. I’ve faced pirates, mudhorns, raiders, and Moff Gideon. I can do this.
I can ask the man I love for a divorce, Din tells himself firmly, ignoring the way his heart sinks at the thought.
-----
Din isn’t sure how, but Boba manages to avoid Din’s inquiries for the entire day. He’s just busy, Din tells himself, watching as Boba listens to a moisture farmer complaining about tax rates. But he can’t help but feel as though Boba was dragging court out longer than usual. Even Fennec was shifting in her perch, rolling her eyes as Boba encourages the farmer to recount for the third time his thoughts on Boba’s tax collection methods.
Finally Boba sends him off, promising to think on his grievances. It’s late, the suns having gone down a while ago. Most of the workers have left or retired, and the court room is silent as the farmer takes his leave, disappearing out the door with a huff. “Finally,” Fennec mutters, sliding to her feet, and Boba takes off his helmet to frown at her.
“Connecting with the people is important,” he tells her. “It’s how I can gain their--”
“Respect, I know, boss,” Fennec says dismissively. “I’m going to the cantina for a drink. I need one after today. Care to join?”
Boba shakes his head, standing up and walking towards where her and Din had joined against the back wall, bumping shoulders with Din. Din tries and fails not to blush. “Have fun out there.”
Fennec narrows her eyes, looking between Din and Boba. Her eyes flash, and the corner of her mouth turns up. “I will,” she all but purrs. “You too.”
Boba ignores her and instead gestures for Din to follow him upstairs, which Din does, his cheeks still hot as he passes Fennec by and she throws a wink at him, mimicking a leash.
When they get to Boba’s room, Din lingers by the door, watching as Boba begins to shed himself of his armor. “Boba.” His voice comes out strangely and he clears his throat and tries again. I can do this. “Listen. We need to--”
“Drink?” Boba interrupts him, heading over to his bar as his droids put his armor on his stand, his fingers dancing over the bottles thoughtfully.
“Um, sure, but--”
“Ah! I almost forgot.”
Boba shifts his focus to his desk, rummaging around on it. He’s getting the papers, Din thinks, not sure why he feels somehow both relieved and disappointed. He sinks down onto Boba’s slim divan, trying to settle his nerves. But when Boba comes back over, he’s holding something wrapped in light fabric. “Here,” he says, pressing it into Din’s hands.
Din hesitates, but Boba smiles at him in such an unexpectedly tender way that he finds himself peeling back the fabric without another word. I can ask him about the divorce afterwards, he tells himself, before he realizes what he’s holding and he lets out a soft gasp. “ Uj'alayi?” He asks, shocked, holding up the two perfectly cut slivers of cake.
Boba’s smile widens, clearly pleased with Din’s reaction. “Do you like it?”
“Where did you find it?” Din can’t remember the last time he’s had uj'alayi. When he was a child, perhaps, before the covert had to move around so much, when they could still afford such pleasures.
“The market,” Boba says, standing up and heading to the bar once again, shifting through the bottles, picking up select ones and setting them aside. “A traveling stand had just those two pieces left. The chef apparently knew a Mandalorian once. He managed to get the recipe from him.” Boba walks back over and sits down, this time sitting next to Din, so close that their legs touch. He’s holding a bottle of teal colored wine, which he tilts for Din to inspect.
“It’s a dessert wine, from Nabboo. It should go well with the cake.”
Din may not know a lot about wine, but he can tell that the bottle is expensive. And old. Something that most people would save for a special occasion. He wants to stop Boba, but he’s already opened the bottle and is pouring it into two glasses before he presses one into Din’s hand, the metal straw already inside. “I-- thank you,” Din says, finally giving into the urge to relax, just a little but. He couldn’t deny that he was excited about the cake, and how could it hurt to have a glass of wine with it? And it was Boba’s wine. Din was sure that Boba had more of these laying around. He was the daimyo, after all. The palace had apparently come with a number of nice treasures inside when he and Fennec had taken it. I’m not special, Din told himself firmly. Boba just wanted to share this with someone who appreciates it.
The glass slowly turns into the bottle, and then two bottles, and then three, and before Din knows it they’re on Boba’s bed again, ripping at each other’s clothing, mouths sealed together, Din’s helmet precariously held up with a shaky hand.
Just one more night, Din tells himself as Boba nearly tears his flightsuit in two in his haste to get it off of him. Tomorrow we’ll get divorced. Tomorrow we’ll sign the papers and be done with this.
And then Boba’s mouth is around his cock and Din doesn’t think about the divorce for the rest of the night.
-----
For three weeks Boba manages to dodge Din’s questions about the divorce.
Three kriffing weeks.
Every time Din tries to ask him, Boba suddenly produces an excuse out of thin air. Sometimes it's gifts-- an armor stand, or a gift for Grogu, something that always makes the kid squeal in excitement and makes Din forget whatever he was doing in favor of making sure that Grogu didn’t immediately break it.
“I didn’t know they sold those at the market,” Din had commented once when Boba had whisked a plush frog, perfectly sized for the kid, out from behind his back, and Boba had shrugged, looking away, a strangely embarrassed look on his face
“Had it made,” he said casually, as if that didn’t kill Din inside.
Other times it's an invitation to spar or to play a round of cards with Fennec (a dangerous pastime, Din quickly learned, as Fennec had the ability to read his sabacc face even with the helmet on), an offer for Din to take a bounty (Din found it hard to turn these down since he had an never ending itch to show Boba how useful he could be) or, most often, a drink is pushed into Din’s hand and the next thing Din knows he’s Boba’s bed, the two of them grasping at each other like overeager teenagers, the divorce papers pushed into the back of Din’s mind until they came back to haunt him in the morning.
This is insane, Din thinks, staring at himself in the mirror as he hears Boba humming outside the fresher, already dressed for the day. How are we still married? Every day he was here he tried to bring up the divorce. Had Boba forgotten about it? Or was he just content to remain his husband for now, so long as they kept sleeping together?
Din shoves his helmet on, cutting off eye contact with himself, his stomach turning uncomfortably. Because that’s what this marriage is about, remember? A voice hisses in his mind. Sex. Nothing more. That’s what all of Boba’s marriages were about.
“Din? Are you ready?” Boba calls, his voice light. If he’s going through any turmoil about this arrangement, he doesn’t show it. But why would he? How many times did he say he had gone through this? Din was just another tally he would soon add to the number, a fun fact he could drop with the next person he hoped to bed in the future. Yes, Boba seemed happier than Din could ever remember seeing him, although he was sure it was unrelated to their union. He’s finally getting the respect he deserves among his people, his power and influence grow by the day, and he’s found an easy and willing bed mate. Din glances at the door, a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Go down without me. I have some errands to run today.”
He can feel Boba’s reluctance on the other side of the door. “I’ll see you tonight then?” He asks, and when Din hesitates he hears Boba come closer, can practically feel the warmth of him through the fresher door. “Din?”
“Yeah,” Din manages to get out. “Tonight.”
-----
The road to Peli’s helps clear Din’s head. In front of him, Grogu babbles in excitement, his ears flapping in the wind. Din smiles down at him before focusing on the path ahead of them. Being around his son always helped soothe his nerves, but Grogu could hardly give Din the guidance he needed on this. Peli, however….
“He’s using you.” Din winces at Peli’s bluntness, half paying attention to what he can see of her-- just her legs, at this point, sticking out of a heap of scrap that Din barely considered a ship-- and half paying attention to Grogu, who’s currently playing with one of Peli’s pit droids, evidently trying to get it to hunt for him judging by the excited way he kept pointing between a poor sniffling creature in the corner and the droid itself.
“Clamps!” Peli barks, holding a hand out, and Din grabs them from her tool box and hands them to her.
“He cares about me,” Din says, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears. “He just--”
“He just cares about sex, sweeheart. Trust me. The whole sham marriage thing? I’ve done it before.” Din frowns at this, letting himself get distracted for a moment by Grogu, who had found a new droid to boss around, the pit droid having decided to collapse in on itself to avoid any more demands from the child, before focusing back on her words.
She’s right, he thinks to himself as he watches his son let out a giggle of amusement as the droid tries to maneuver his way around him without being touched, beeping nervously. Why else would he be avoiding my questions about the divorce? After all, they have been sleeping together nearly every day. This is just a convenience for him. It would be more trouble for him to go and find a new partner.
“Listen,” Peli sighs, taking in Din’s silence. “How many times did you say he got divorced?” Din tears his gaze away from Grogu to look at Peli’s legs again, his stomach sinking.
“He said around fifty.” Din sounds pathetic, even to himself.
“Exactly. Speaks for itself. Trust me, it’s better for you to sign those papers first before he serves them to you alongside an eviction notice.”
Din rolls his eyes at this. “Boba wouldn’t do that.”
“Eh, maybe. It’s happened before, though. And getting kicked out in the middle of sandstorm season? Not the best situation I’ve been in. Flamepitcher!”
Din shuffles around the toolbox for the tool, thinking over her words. Yes, Boba wouldn’t kick them out. Din was sure of that. If anything else, he seemed to have a soft spot for Grogu. Unless that’s a trick too, Din thinks, and he feels a little sick at the thought.
Would Boba do that? Would he go that far just to find someone to lay with him? He wouldn’t, Din tries to tell himself, but now he’s not sure. He knows what Grogu means to me. Was that just a weakness he chose to exploit? Being in Tatooine for this long, Din had started to hear some of the stories of Boba before he fell into the Sarlacc pit. They didn’t paint a pretty picture.
Not that my history is much better, Din reminds himself. And Boba was a changed man. Still-- still. How long had Boba been planning this? Or did he always keep those papers next to his bed, just waiting for the next willing person to sleep with?
I need to get those papers signed, Din decides. Tonight. No more letting himself get distracted by fancy gifts or sweet nothings. Din had to do this, not only for himself, but for Grogu, too.
Din stands up, feeling determined. “I have to go.”
“Hold it!” Peli slides out from under the ship, brushing off sand as she stands up. She squints up at him. “Alright. Here’s my advice. Have a running vehicle ready outside the door. Keep your blaster ready. And do not, under any circumstances, bring the baby into it. Men tend to get territorial about babies.”
Din resists the urge to roll his eyes again, striding over to pick up Grogu before he could traumatize another droid. “I told you, Boba’s not like that.” At least this Din truly does believe. “And Grogu-- Grogu isn’t his.” Grogu let out an annoyed grumble, his ears falling as he looked up at Din with slitted eyes. Din ignores him.
“Never hurts to be safe!” Peli calls as Din starts walking to his speeder. “And hey, who knows? Maybe this is all a big misunderstanding and he’s secretly in love with you but is terrible at showing it. Men tend to get like that too. I’ll put fifty credits on that option. Ha!”
“Thanks for the advice,” Din says dryly, tucking Grogu away safely before he swings himself on behind him.
“Anytime!” Peli waves them off, and Din spends the rest of the ride home thinking about how utterly stupid he’s been about this whole thing. It’s one thing to hurt myself, he thinks, but it’s another thing to hurt Grogu. And I will not let that happen.
-----
It’s dark by the time they get back. Din nods at the night shift guards as he glides into the hanging bay. He shuts off the speeder and gathers up Grogu, who yawns sleepily at him. “Ready for bed, kid?” He asks, and Grogu lets out a soft sound of agreement, his eyes already drifting closed.
Grogu passes out completely on the way up to his room-- why did Din not think it was strange before that Boba had given Grogu his own room?-- and Din walks in as quietly as possible, side stepping the strewn about toys and hoarded snacks Grogu thought he could hide. He places him down in his crib, holding his breath. Grogu could be a nightmare at bedtime, and if he woke up now it would take Din a few more hours to get him settled again. But he doesn’t stir, and Din breathes out a side of relief as he creeps backwards towards the door, keeping an eye on his son the whole time to make sure that he doesn’t wake up.
His heart nearly bursts out of his chest when he backs right into someone’s chest. He immediately whirls around, defensive, only to come face to face with Boba, who raises an eyebrow in amusement at Din’s reaction. Thankfully he stays quiet as Din quickly presses the button to close Grogu’s door, waiting until it fully closes with a soft woosh. “Did I scare you?” He asks once there’s a wall of separation between them and his son. His voice is light. He’s teasing me.
If Din was in a better mood, if he wasn’t about to irrevocably change everything between the two of them, if he wasn’t about to ruin whatever they had between them, he could pretend that this was a normal conversation. He would roll his eyes and make a remark back, then Boba would ask him to come up to his room for one reason or another, and soon they would be in bed together, both of them ignoring the divorce papers waiting patiently in Boba’s bedside table, and that would be that.
No more, Din thinks, steeling himself. “We need to talk.”
Boba’s face falls a bit and Din’s tone before he forces a smile onto his face that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Sure,” he agrees easily enough. “Why don’t we go upstairs, have a drink and--’
“No. Now.”
Boba deflates a bit, his smile fading. “Alright,” he says, and his eyes are not quite meeting Din’s through his helmet anymore. Instead they’re skirting off to the side. Nervous, Din notes. Why would he be nervous? “Alright. Do you want-- I mean, would you like to do it right here?”
Din pauses, considering. No, he does not want to do it out in the hallway. It’s too open, too exposed. Anyone could hear. He could move them to his own bedroom-- unused, as of lately, but close by. But, Din thinks, there’s not much space in there. A bed, storage for clothes, a corner fresher, and that’s it. They would have to sit close. Too close. Din wants distance. Needs distance.
Boba’s rooms are big enough, he finally admits to himself. There’s Boba’s bed, but also the table he also occasionally takes meals at. Din sighs. “Your room is fine.”
If Boba is pleased by this, he doesn’t show it. He seems to have picked up on Din’s tenseness, and instead of saying anything he merely nods and turns to lead them up. Din follows, training his eyes on the floor. How was this going to go? What was he even going to say? Din could feel the words building in his throat, threatening to burst out. Did you ever care about me? Was this all for the sex? This was a mistake. I never should have signed that certificate. What number did you say I was again? Do you already know who you’re going to marry next?
They felt like needles in his mouth, and he tries to swallow. They were cruel and jealous thoughts, things that were normally unlike him. And he didn’t want them to be a part of him. Din counts his breaths as Boba opens the door to his room, trying to calm himself. He hates how out of control he felt. This was just all so-- so new to him. Din never thought much about his emotions before. His duty to his tribe was what he thought about most. Then getting Grogu to his kind. Then his new and unexpected relationship as Grogu’s father. Now this. He was still unsteady in this realm, uncertain and scared of what could come of it. As Boba turns to face him, Din once again feels the sinking feeling of regret come over him.
No matter what I say, everything will be different after this, he thinks, staring at the tired expression on Boba’s face. Instead of heading to his bar cart as Din thought he might, Boba chose to take a heavy seat at his table, and Din feeks some relief that Boba wasn’t going to try and twist their talk around with distractions and sweet nothings. Din considers sitting across from him, but somehow even that felt too close, and instead he settles for hovering near the door, trying not to fidget as he tried to parse his thoughts together. Boba waits patiently, his eyes boring into Din’s. Somehow, like always, he manages to guess exactly where Din’s own eyes were. While Din normally found this comforting, it was now unnerving. Din lowers his own gaze.
“We need to get divorced.”
There. He said it. Din closes his eyes, afraid to look at Boba. Afraid to see the expression on his face. Relief? Annoyance? Disgust? Would he be happy that Din was deciding to end things before they got too awkward, or would he be frustrated that Din was breaking the rules of his past marriages? Could he tell why Din was asking-- could he see now that Din was in too deep, that he thought of Boba constantly, that distancing himself was the only thing he could do to protect himself and his son from more heartbreak?
“Din.” Din flinches despite himself, and hesitantly opened his eyes. Boba was still looking at him, but his expression was-- strange. Like he was deliberately trying to hold himself still. “I--” Boba stops, clearing his throat. Din blinks, surprised. It was unusual for Boba to struggle to find words. “I understand,” Boba says finally, and he finally breaks eye contact with Din in favor of looking down at the table, smiling wryly at it. “It was… unfair of me to ask in the first place. I know that. I’ve been selfish.”
Din stares at him, confused, the thoughts and words he had crowding in his head going still. Selfish?
He’s referring to the sex, Din tells himself, but Boba looked more upset than Din would imagine for someone admitting to being selfish about finding someone to sleep with. Din hesitates, then moves closer to the table, pulling out the chair opposite to Boba and perching on it, still tense. Boba looks up and gives him a weak smile.
“I’m not-- I’m not good with emotions,” he continues after a moment. "I’m betting better. But I’m not good.”
Din wonders if he should say something-- if he should tell Boba that he isn’t good either, that that’s why they needed to get divorced in the first place, that Boba wasn't alone.
But he’s still so confused. What do Boba’s emotions have to do with sex? Din had thought he was the only one feeling anything more than base attraction for the other. A small sliver of hope starts to unfurl in Din’s chest, despite his best efforts.
Boba looks back down again, his face twisting a bit. “I just-- you feel so unreachable at times. Untouchable. Look at you-- you have so much ahead of you. The darksaber, your son, your bounty hunting-- you have a future. And I just-- I wanted to be a part of it. Even if it was just for a little while.”
“Boba…”
“No,” Boba says with a sigh, shaking his head. “I owe this to you. I should have been more honest. Yes, I’m attracted to you Din. Stars know I am. Who isn’t? But that’s not why I had you sign the marriage papers. Or at least not entirely why.”
Boba takes a breath and seems to gather himself, lifting his gaze once again to look at Din. Din is struck by his expression-- he isn’t sure if he’s ever seen Boba like this. So open, so vulnerable. “I love you, Din Djarin,” he says, and Din feels his mind stop working.
“I have for far too long. Normally I’m no coward, normally I act on how I feel,” Boba continues, oblivious to how Din was suddenly questioning his entire existence. “But I didn’t want to scare you off. You’re so independent. You don’t need me. I thought maybe, if we were married and you forgot about it, we would still be connected when you left.”
When, Din notes dimly, not if. Was this really how Boba felt? Did he really think Din was constantly on the brink of leaving, that Din didn't’ feel the same way? Din stares at Boba, trying desperately to gather his thoughts enough to say something, but he feels frozen. The hope that had tentatively started to grow inside of him had burst open, and he felt like he was caught in the aftermath of it, his entire world having shifted around him. Boba loves me. Boba loves me back.
“I know,” Boba says, his voice faltering at Din’s silence, “that it wasn't fair of me. And I’m sorry. But I want you to know that you and Grogu are always welcome here, and--”
“Boba…”
“--and I should have said something, I knew you kept trying to talk to me, I knew you wanted to get divorced right away--”
“Boba--”
“--and I’m sorry. I understand, of course, if you want to leave and never--”
Din sighs, reaches up, and pulls his helmet off.
Boba lets out a choked noise and stops talking, quickly dropping his eyes. Din tries not to feel too self conscious-- did he remember to brush his hair today? He isn’t sure. He runs his hand through his curls, pushing them back into place from where they got pressed down from his helmet. He clears his throat, suddenly shy. He reaches across the table, grabbing one of Boba’s hands. Boba immediately clutches Din’s hand back, his breath catching in his throat.
“Boba,” Din says again, and Boba looks at him, his eyes wide and misty looking, uncertain and hopeful. “I love you too.”
Boba grins, and then Din is being pulled up and towards him until he falls into his lap, and Boba crashes their lips together, his fingers gripping Din’s waist so tightly Din was sure that he would have bruises in the morning. Eventually Boba pulls back, breathless, pressing their foreheads together.
“You’re gorgeous.”
Din flushes, and Boba’s grin widens. “You’re just saying that because you’re my husband,” Din grumbles, and now Boba blushes, a delightful shade of pink rising to his cheeks.
“Maybe,” Boba says, before shaking his head, a look of both annoyance and fondness coming over his face. “Stars, we’re stupid. We probably should have talked about this sooner.:
“Hm,” Din agrees. Then face falls and he closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as he hides his face in Boba's shoulder. He smells nice, he notes distantly. Like gunpowder and leather.
“What?” Boba asks, concerned, rubbing a hand up and down Din’s back. Din can’t feel it well through the armor, but the gesture is nice. Natural. Din feels a wave of excitement for all of this-- for what this means for them, for their future, for Grogu’s future. But first….
“I need to borrow fifty credits,” Din sighs, burrowing closer to Boba. “I think I just lost a bet.”