Work Text:
“You’re behind,” Luke laughs, sloppily pouring Din another shot and watching it spill onto Lando’s expensive sheets as he passes it over.
Din takes it from him and tilts the bottom of his helmet up just enough to knock it back.
“Ugh.” Din hiccups, shoulders bouncing slightly. “Hard to keep up, you know, because,” he raps his knuckles against beskar. The reverberating sound dies instantly in the hush of the sound-proofed boudoir.
Luke hums in affirmation, slipping down the headboard a little and sloshing the inside of the bottle. The bed is criminally comfortable, made up with Core World silks and down pillows in eye-watering bright colors. They should’ve expected something like this when they went searching for the bar on Lando’s pleasure yacht, but the huge bed, colored lighting, and ceiling mirror had sent them both into hysterics.
The spice liquor they’d pilfered from Lando’s bedside bar has made Luke warm and able to unwind after days of espionage and fighting. It reminds him of Tatooine, of course, where he’d first tasted this particular drink. That fateful night under the fireworks, he recalls. Luke chuckles to himself at the memory and at the ironic recreation of the scene.
“What?” Din asks from the other end of the bed. His voice is full of laughter, like he’s in on some grand joke with Luke.
He’d initially put purposeful space between them, aiming for professionalism even while getting drunk in someone’s room implicitly set up for sexual romps. But a few shots in, and he’s fully splayed out, loose-limbed and relaxed for once. Beautiful, as always, broad and, kriff, Luke’s head is swimming with how attractive Din is.
“Just,” Luke huffs, feeling his face burn with the memory and the alcohol and the realization that Din is much closer to him on the bed than when this started. “The last time I drank this… I was with another Mandalorian.”
Din’s helmet tries to snap over and look at Luke, but he seems to have lost the coordination to do so, and he ends up flopping his armored body fully over to respond.
“Oh?” He asks. “Fett?”
Luke wrinkles his nose while he pours them both another shot. “Ugh! No.”
He doesn’t have to explain he’d rather fight another rancor than sit and drink with Boba Fett of all people. Din knows that story. It was the first time Luke had ever made Din laugh, which had been as equally exciting as it was annoying. It hadn’t encouraged Luke to change his mind about Fett at any rate.
Din chuckles to himself, probably at the memory, before lifting his helmet again to down the next shot.
“No,” Luke says again, watching Din’s bearded chin disappear under beskar. “He was religious like you.”
Din tilts his helmet, surprised. “Really? Then why’d he drink with you?”
Luke snorts, feeling his face get hot again. Sober, he might’ve kept this story to himself. He’s never told anyone really, never got a chance to before his whole life changed. But what the hell? Din’s pretty good at keeping secrets. And Luke likes that idea. Sharing secrets with Din.
“Pretty sure it was because he wanted to fuck me,” Luke admits.
Din coughs, violently. It surprises Luke enough to send him snickering, pleased his words have made their intended impression.
“Wha-at?” Din croaks. “How could you tell?”
Luke can’t stop laughing. “Because he did! After we drank way too much of this,” he tilts the bottle toward Din, “same stuff.”
Din freezes, mid breath. His hands fall to the coverlet of the bed and curl into loose fists. “Oh?”
Luke smirks. “I stole a bottle. Little Boonta Eve tradition at Anchorhead. I’d just turned nineteen, and it was my turn to bring the most expensive bottle I could find to the party. Never made it back to my friends though.” He winks at Din, enjoying scandalizing him for some reason.
This was such a good idea. He’s warm all over from the alcohol and the memories and spending time with his new friend. Their mission had been rough; informed by reconnaissance work by the Rangers, they’d gone undercover for some espionage among black market dealers. Luke had been alone for much of it, wearing uncomfortable rich people clothes, using the Force to conceal his identity, cheeks burning from smiling at the profiteers of slavery and war. Lando had lent him the yacht for his cover, perfect for gathering the crooks in one place and hiding Din until it was time to reveal their sting operation.
Eager to toast their victory and perhaps a little high off discovering how good of a team they made, Luke had been determined to thank the Mandalorian as they headed homeward, back to Grogu.
Luke swoons over with a smile for Din, but then falters when he notices a sharp tug of confused panic resonating from him through the Force.
“I… I didn’t know you lived on Tatooine,” Din says, sounding strained.
Luke’s smile fades. “Grew up there, yeah.”
“You said your sister was a Princess of Alderaan.”
“We were separated at birth.” Luke huffs a laugh. He takes another swig from the bottle. “I’m not royalty or anything.”
“How old are you?”
Luke pauses with the rim of the bottle inches from his lips. When the realization hits, he turns fully into Din’s space.
“No!”
“28? 29?”
“Kriffin’ hell, Din.”
Din groans, and his helmet drops into his hands. “I didn’t know you lived on Tatooine.”
“But— but he wasn’t wearing beskar!” Luke sputters.
“It’s been ten years! I’ve upgraded my armor since then.”
Luke stares at him, stares and stares, and then bursts out laughing. Because yes, if he’s honest, he can feel it, he’s always felt it, that strange familiarity. Din’s Force signature, one he’s intimately acquainted with, had imprinted on him all those years ago, before Obi-wan had even given a name to the intuition that lived in the back of his mind.
Din has slowly sunk low on the bed into disbelieving horror, shoulders scrunched up toward his head, hands still cradling his helmet. “Glad you can laugh about this,” he mutters.
Luke’s laughter dissolves into soft giggles as he bumps his shoulder into Din’s hard pauldron. “ Aww, it’s okay. It’s a good memory.”
Din turns his helmet slightly, as if to peak up at Luke. “You remember it? We were so drunk.”
Luke nods. “I am cursed with the ability to remember everything, even when very, very drunk.”
Maybe that was the Force too, he wonders, imprinting every soaring victory and deep pain in sharp detail on his mind. He remembers the cool evening air, the boom of the overhead fireworks, the panting groans of the Mandalorian, of Din , as he thrusted inside Luke’s burning body.
His stomach clenches and cock pulses with the thought. He lolls his head to the side, eyeing Din’s stiff frame. His hands are in his lap now, fingers clenched tightly together.
“You were gentle,” Luke says, quietly. “I couldn’t have asked for a better first time.”
Din turns fully toward him at that, brimming with a riot of emotions Luke can’t quite parse.
“It was my first time too,” Din says, voice surprisingly shaky. “I used to…” he swallows audibly, “wonder about him. If he was okay.”
Tears spring into Luke’s eyes unbidden. He drags his arm across them quickly, sniffing. Because, gods, he used to wonder too. After he’d touch himself at the memory, after he’d kiss or suck or fuck and find himself alone again in a cold bunk. When he’d have trouble sleeping, hounded by nightmares. He’d remember the warm sand, the reflection of the fireworks on Din’s visor, the comfort of his arms around Luke as he’d breathed, “ Thank you.”
“I’m okay,” Luke breathes, finally giving in and touching Din, hands light on his pauldrons. “I’m working on being okay, Din.”
Din’s hands rise to grip Luke’s biceps. They stare at each other, quiet. The room seems to swim around Din’s helmet, colorful lighting and cushioned walls forming a spinning nebula around his shining aura. It’s breathtaking.
“I’m sorry I don’t remember all of it,” Din finally says. “I think I can recall how… enticing your offer was.”
Luke can’t help the smirk that sneaks up his face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Din says, and Luke swears he can feel the vibrations of his deep voice all the way up his arms.
Luke licks his lips. This was getting… interesting. Maybe potentially dangerous. It would be a lie to pretend Luke hasn’t thought about it before. Even as their professional relationship had swung closer to friendship in the last few months, he’d never expected Din to even acknowledge it beyond the welcome he’d extended to Luke when allowing him into his home with Grogu.
But this? This is on the edge of something he’s not allowed himself to venture towards since the end of the war, since deciding to start the school and commit to the life of a Jedi. It’s been so long that even though his body knows exactly how to respond, suddenly hot and tight, his mind hesitates to act, unsure.
But we have before, the thought comes. And that makes it different, doesn’t it?
“You were so different then,” Din says, a near echo of Luke’s thoughts.
Luke sighs, nodding. “Younger, better looking…”
“Young, yes,” Din concedes. “But… now you’re… refined .”
Luke bites his lip, afraid he’ll laugh. Not mockingly, but out of the sheer ridiculousness of this moment. “ Refined” was incredibly appealing to Din, going by the wave of lusty appreciation he unknowingly is sending through the Force. It’s strange, but also gratifying. So much so that Luke has to contend that perhaps he has been harboring feelings for Din that he’s been afraid to examine.
“I can tell you what happened,” Luke says before he can think about it. “If you want.”
Din’s thoughts seem to stall before palpable interest radiates from him into the Force. He gives a tiny shrug, to seem casual maybe, but Luke knows he has Din’s total focus.
Luke shuffles closer, letting his elbows drop and hinge forward, but keeping his hands on Din’s pauldrons for support in his tipsy state.
“You caught me stealing,” Luke begins, pressing his lower lip out in the replay of his pout. “The bottle was in my hand, and you stopped my escape by grabbing my wrist and pulling me into an alley.”
“I didn’t care you were stealing,” Din says. “I just needed information.”
Luke’s mouth pops open for a minute, surprised. “What information?”
“The tender. Wanted Rodian, D/A, 500 credits. It was a big job for me, and you had just seen him.”
“You remember the stats of a bounty from ten years ago, but not how you deflowered me?”
Din chuckles, and the resulting jostle brings them even closer together.
“His blaster. You found out what he was packing before you stole from him,” Din says.
“Of course.”
“Because you’re smart. So I followed you, to get the information.”
Luke raises an eyebrow and laughs. “Oh yes, you were very professional. I offered to share the spice liquor with you if you let me go, and a few shots later you practically had me in your lap.”
Din turns his helmet away at that. Luke can feel his embarrassment, but there’s the same undercurrent of interest that Luke feels simmering beneath his own skin.
“I offered to suck you,” Luke says, cocking his head and regretting it. His vision swims for a moment, Din’s silver helmet blurring. Din is tense beneath him and still looking away, acting like Luke just offered to shimmy down between Din’s legs right now in recreation. His fingers move restlessly against the cool of the beskar at Din’s shoulders.
“You must have had a lot of offers, back then.”
Din shrugs again, not denying it. Luke smiles.
“You still do, right?”
Din clears his throat and finally looks back at Luke. “Not as often. I bet you do,” he counters. “Hero of the Rebellion. Master Jedi.”
Luke frowns. “Eh,” he says, biting his lip.
He tries not to think about it much. The reason he hurried away from the Core, from the politics of the New Republic, and the people who wanted too much from him.
“Most people are just afraid of me now,” he answers honestly.
Not the people who matter, he thinks. Not Leia or Han or… Grogu and Din, Luke realizes.
He sits back on his heels, letting his arms drop and drifting away from Din. He can’t meet his gaze anymore and reaches for the bottle again, this time taking a swig right from it instead of pouring a shot. Din surprises him by reaching to take it from him and doing the same. Luke watches his tongue quickly swipe out at his lower lip to catch drops of the liquor that escaped his mouth. He doesn’t look away as Din’s throat bobs as he swallows; he doesn’t look away when the helmet seals back into place, hiding chin and neck and throat once more.
“So you asked, and I said yes?” Din asks as he hands the bottle back.
Luke lifts his eyebrows, surprised that Din still wants to talk about this. He chuckles lightly, pulling at the corner of the bottle’s label, lost in the memory again.
“I think I asked you what kind of anatomy you were working with first.”
Din chokes on a cough, jerking with it for a moment, and wheezing out, “Yeah? You’re familiar with all sorts or? I mean – shit…”
Luke laughs again, face flushing hot for some reason. He bites his lower lip as he pulls a little more on the label. The idea that Din thinks Luke is some sort of cad or something is a little insulting, but he’s not the first to make the assumption. Din is squirming a little, his guilt emanating through the Force as he regrets his words. Luke sighs.
“There have been a few. But… you’re still very much my type.”
Din stares at him, processing that for a few moments. “I think,” he says, quietly, so quietly Luke has to lean in to hear him, “you informed my type.”
“Oh?” Luke’s eyebrows rise to his forehead. “Blonde hair? Penis haver? Great at sucking cock?”
Din lets out a gust of breath and shakes his head. “Kind,” he replies, simply.
Luke is still for just a moment, before he clambers forward, needing to be closer, sloshing the bottle in his hand in the process.
“Din,” he says, deadly serious. His head is spinning and so is Din’s helmet. He rests his gloved hand on the dome, trying to hold the universe still for once so he can figure out what he’s feeling in this moment, what he needs to say.
“I wish I remembered,” Din says. His gloved fingers leave a rough wake behind as they graze Luke’s cheek.
“I could show you,” Luke whispers, half in question. “A little reenactment for old times sake.”
Din stops, thinking again. It’s strange; Luke has seen him in battle, how quickly he makes decisions, how quickly he moves. The man is as pragmatic as an Ugnaught, but here, in this moment, he hesitates, his mind a riot of indecisiveness.
Luke wants him so very badly.
Din nods, finally, a small movement, and Luke takes it as permission to move down the bed between Din’s legs. He glances up to Din’s helmet, and the memory comes back again, as clear as the day it happened.
“You were sitting up against a dune,” Luke says as his hands travel to Din’s belt. He rests his fingers there, waiting for permission once again, monitoring the sluggish unease of Din’s inner thoughts.
Din sits up more and slides back until he’s fully up against the headboard, legs splayed open. He reaches down to undo his belt, pants clasp, and zipper. Luke hurries to follow, helping him with the rest, and pulling out his thick cock, already fully at attention from just their conversation.
“Hello again,” Luke says, getting comfortable between Din’s legs and letting his hand drift up and down the shaft.
Din simultaneously shivers at the stimulation and huffs a laugh at Luke’s greeting. “Did you talk to it back then?”
“ Shhh, I’m getting reacquainted with an old friend.”
Luke moves his hand up and down a few times, enjoying the girth, the silky smoothness of Din’s taut skin, the brush of his pubes against the bottom of his hand and wrist. Just as he remembered, it’s a really nice cock, about the same length as Luke’s, but thicker, with a fat head. He smears his thumb along the leaking slit, and watches as Din slinks down slightly down the headboard. He lets out the tiniest moan when Luke squeezes and pulls up.
He lowers his face and sucks Din down in one quick move, swallowing at the root. He knows he didn’t do that the first time, but there’s something about the smell of the room and the sway in his head from the alcohol that makes him want to show off. He’s rewarded by a grip at his shoulder, and a grunt of surprise above him. He does another bob of his head and then glances up, inwardly preening at the undeniable awe emanating from Din in the Force.
He pops off to say, “I can’t believe I took all of this as a virgin. But I was younger then. Braver and carefree.”
Din hisses as Luke takes him in his mouth again, but seems to be unable to speak, communicating only with the squeeze of his fingers on Luke’s shoulder. After a few more strokes of his mouth and twists of his hand, Din’s hand clamps like a vice around Luke’s arm and pulls. He moans when Luke releases him and grabs himself, squeezing purposefully at the base.
“Even with all that alcohol, huh?” Luke says, pleased enough to be cocky, swooning forward and putting his arms around Din’s neck.
“I didn’t have that much, remember?” Din grits out.
Luke laughs, then takes a fistful of Din’s cape in his hand and tugs. “This isn’t accurate to the recreation,” he says as he tugs it out and throws it aside.
His fingers find the edge of Din’s high-necked shirt and dip below the seam to feel his skin.
“Your old shirt had a hole in it here,” he says, slightly mourning the memory.
“You really remember that?”
“How could I forget the small bits of you I was able to taste?”
Luke tucks his head down and lowers Din’s neckline so that he can dip his tongue along the exposed skin, pressing kiss after kiss. Din’s arms tighten, and Luke squirms with how good it feels, all that hard beskar pressing against his chest, grounding him for a moment. His head already feels he’s halfway past atmo.
He bites gently into Din’s neck, and the man shivers.
“You’re so sensitive,” Luke murmurs. “Were back then too.”
“Mmm,” is all Din replies, shifting slightly beneath Luke’s thighs. His strong neck tightens as he moves his head further aside, welcoming Luke’s attention.
His mind is buzzing with pleasure, finally settling into acceptance of what’s happening, afloat on a cloud of intoxication. Maybe Din would think of it as a violation, his ever shifting mood telegraphed across the Force into Luke’s perceptive mind. But even back then on Boonta Eve in the warm sand, Luke felt like he could perceive every desire, every iota of Din’s want radiating from his fingers to the taught muscle of his neck.
“What happened next?” Din asks, right on cue. His thighs are shaking beneath Luke’s ass, barely resisting the urge to thrust up. Luke hides his smile against Din’s shoulder.
“I was a bit hasty, if I recall,” he says.
He climbs off of Din and stands next to the bed, enjoying Din’s undivided attention as he steps out of his boots and socks. When his hand goes to his belt, Din sits up, cock swaying slightly, and his fingers twitch.
Luke licks his lips and hastily finishes pulling down his pants, face burning with Din’s stare as he finally removes his underwear and comes back to the bed. His head is still light, just on the right side of tipsy without being too drunk. Just enough to feel confident straddling Din’s thighs again, but not without hesitating with the next step.
Din accommodates him at least, fitting their bodies comfortably together, and after fluttering his hands by Luke’s naked legs for a moment, hastily removing his gloves. He grazes his fingers up Luke’s thighs before settling around his hips, fingers curled around to caress the swell of his ass.
Luke bites his lip. “We… didn’t have protection then. Or lube, really,” he says.
Din stills. “I didn’t take you without prep, did I?”
“No!” Luke hurries to assure him, “We were just creative. And drunk and in a hurry. Vaseline from the med kit. I… didn’t want to wait.” He takes Din’s cock back into his hand and pulls up, twisting his fist around the head. “Never been much good at waiting.”
Din’s fingers tighten around Luke’s ass as he gives an abortive thrust upward.
“Guarantee Calrissian’s got this place stocked.”
Luke nods in agreement, looking around the ridiculous room before focusing on the cabinet next to the bed. He concentrates, holding out a hand to what he can sense is inside. A small bag flies out of it and gently floats to them. He can feel Din’s slight amusement – Luke rarely uses the Force for such banal tasks.
“If you had done that the first time, I bet I would have remembered,” Din says as Luke rifles through Lando’s frankly ridiculous array of every kind of condom imaginable, small to Wookiee-sized ( seriously?!) . He removes an appropriate packet and some lubricant that isn’t flavored or… warming.
“Hopefully,” Luke says, ripping the packages open with his teeth, “I’ll leave a better impression this time.”
He slides the condom down Din’s shaft, smirking at the shaking exhale he hears from Din’s vocoder, and reaches for Din’s right hand.
“Do you remember?” Luke asks, feeling Din’s shiver as he grazes his palm with his finger nails. “One, then two. Slow until I ask for more.”
He thinks he can hear Din’s throat click as he swallows then nods. Luke brings Din’s hand up his mouth on an impulse, intending to suck a digit into his mouth but is overcome, suddenly, by the sight of a scar cut deep across Din’s palm. He presses it to his lips, willing it away, the pain of Din’s past, the signs of its lingering presence. Then, he kisses it again because he can, because he wants to. Maybe it’s a thank you in advance.
Din’s arousal gives way to a short second of pain, but when Luke looks at him, he’s preoccupied with the lube, preparing to coat his fingers once Luke releases them.
After he does so, Luke lifts up on his knees and waits. The first time, he hadn’t had a moment to think. It was all so loud, fireworks exploding, wind blowing, panting and moaning and the grit of sand at his knees. Now he fights to keep his mind in the present, to ignore the warning bells going off in his head at a line he’s about to cross with someone he cares about.
Din’s finger circles his opening, but the hand that drifts up and under Luke’s tunic is what makes his stomach tremble.
“Alright?” Din asks, and Luke chokes on his answer.
He nods and Din begins, circling him first, then pressing in, slow and careful. Luke breathes out, willing himself to relax, focusing instead on the gentle caress of Din’s other hand as it slides down his stomach to grip Luke’s shaft. It almost becomes hypnotic— caught between the friction of Din’s palm as it moves up and down his cock and the internal stretch as he bears down on Din’s fingers.
He’s hot beneath his tunic; sweat starts to bead between his pecs. He refocuses his gaze on Din’s visor, pointed downward to look at Luke’s cock in his hand, singularly focused. Luke has tasted this side of Din’s feelings, the Mandalorian in the midst of battle, sharp while working toward a clear objective.
It makes Luke’s cock pulse. He groans, leaning forward to press his forehead to Din’s helmet, fingers scrambling on the smooth cool of his beskar pauldrons.
“Another,” he rasps.
But Din hesitates, removing his hand. Luke can hear his pants, can feel the heat of his lust pouring into the Force, but still, there’s that same nervous hesitation. Luke leans backward and sits on his heels, giving Din space, even as his body protests, aching to be close.
“It – ” Din starts, fingers curling into a fist as they drift to his sides. “It can’t be like before.”
Luke’s stomach drops. He nods, internally cringing at himself. Of course not. What was he thinking ? They’re not the same people as those young men in the sands all those years ago. No alcohol or nostalgia can erase everything they’ve both gone through.
“I understand,” Luke says. He sighs, running a hand down his face. He wonders where the bottle is, if he can even recover this misstep with another drink, but when he turns, Din’s hand curls around his wrist to stop him.
“You don’t,” Din disagrees. “I… know you now.”
Luke breathes out. “Right. And I’m different.”
“Yes, and so am I. Luke, I–”
“Din.” Luke holds up his hands, grimacing, annoyed at the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. “It’s alright.”
“No, no, listen.” Din huffs, then reaches to pull his helmet up and off his head.
Luke blinks, surprised, suddenly staring into a face he’s only seen once before, across a room. But, of course, Luke knows him, knows the very shape of his soul. Looking into his eyes now feels like something he’s done a hundred times or more.
“I’m sorry,” Din’s pure, unfiltered voice says. “I kriffed this up.”
Luke frowns, feeling the wrinkle form between his brows. He hovers a trembling hand next to Din’s cheek, longing to touch him, deeply afraid to break the boundaries that he isn’t sure he understands anymore.
“We were just drinking,” Luke says, but it sounds like a question when it comes out, an excuse he’s offering on a platter so they can start to rebuild whatever this might have knocked down.
Din lifts his hand to cradle Luke’s and guide it to his face. He shuts his eyes at the feeling, exhaling slowly through his nose and swallowing.
Luke selfishly looks his fill as his palm warms against Din’s cheek. The length of his dark curls, the lines along his eyes, the pepper in his beard and mustache. Din’s lips are pressed into a hard line as he thinks, and Luke can’t help the rush of desire at the thought of leaning close to capture them and persuade them to open between his own.
“I don’t know how to talk about these things,” Din says, eyes still closed tight.
“Neither do I, really,” Luke admits. His fingers shift ever so slightly, thumb roving carelessly down to Din’s jaw. “We didn’t do much talking that day.”
Din’s jaw tightens, and he swallows again before opening his eyes, staring courageously into Luke’s. His hand tightens over Luke’s knuckles.
“That kid meant so much to me. He was… the one good memory I had in a wash of so much bad. You have no idea… but now you, you… ”
Luke readies himself for the final blow, suddenly terrified as his heart lifts into his throat. But then, Din smiles.
It fills his face with lines, and his eyes brighten as he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Luke. “ Gods. You, Luke, mean so much more .”
Luke jerks back a centimeter, shocked, not sure he understood. Then it all becomes clear, and without another second of hesitation, he grips Din’s face with his other hand and brings them together for a kiss. It’s hard, fast, sloppy and so perfect Luke feels like he can touch the stars. Din crowds him onto his back, enthusiastically kissing Luke back with absolutely no finesse or skill whatsoever.
Luke laughs, can’t help it, as they find their rhythm, pulling and pushing at each other. He’s half crushed by Din’s weight and armor, but he can’t bring himself to give a single kriff, can’t even be bothered to squeak in protest, because Din Djarin’s inner aura was lit up with such tremulous, fragile, loyal love when he spoke those words that Luke’s broken heart seems to beat anew.
When their hips align, they both groan loudly, grinding into each other as best they can, messy and inelegant as they press as close together as possible.
Luke’s skin feels like it’s too tight; he gasps for each breath. Every kiss he gives he can feel the stroke of Din’s desire growing, burning, building towards something higher and more holy than any other ritual Luke’s ever tried to achieve peace.
He reaches his prosthetic between them, hoping to grip them both and provide some semblance of consistent friction with the leather of his glove. They both groan, and Din repositions himself, strong arms hooking under and cradling Luke’s shoulders while his hands scratch into Luke’s scalp. He holds Luke’s head down as he kisses every inch of his face, set on conquering, apparently. His hips piston in a steady rhythm and then suddenly, he’s grunting, sharp and hard growls with each thrust, teeth pressed against Luke’s jaw as he gets close.
Luke is transported again to the sand, to the groans of a younger Mandalorian, to the sad undercurrent of his loneliness that made his fingers tighten around Luke’s thighs. To the booming of the fireworks overhead as Luke had crested over his orgasm, untouched.
He gasps; his balls pull up. He wraps his arms tight around Din’s neck and comes hard.
Din groans tightly as Luke’s come becomes additional lubricant for the tight fist around his cock. It takes a few more thrusts, and Din follows, breathing hard into Luke’s neck. He presses a small kiss to Luke’s skin above the neckline of his tunic before pulling away and collapsing onto his back.
As they recover their breath, Luke watches the ridiculously opulently decorated ceiling above spin, endorphins and alcohol blurring his vision. He turns his head to focus on Din instead.
“You really don’t remember?” He pants.
Din frowns at the ceiling, completely unguarded in his expression.
“I remember…” he pauses for a moment. “Looking at your face with the fireworks going off behind you, and thinking your pale skin looked ethereal as it reflected all the colors. Like you were a deity or a spirit. Like I was just hallucinating the whole thing.”
Something eases an ache in Luke’s heart that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying with him all these years. Maybe it was better this way — a second chance at the first time. They’ve come together in time, just as the universe intended. Mandalorian and Jedi. Warriors and teachers. Refined.
“Well,” Luke says, “you didn’t.”
Din looks at him out of the corner of his eye, shy suddenly, but his mouth quirks up in a half smile.
“No,” he agrees.