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Boba Fett could not escape being paired on bounty hunts with one particular Mandalorian every time he ventured West of his own typical stomping grounds. He wanted to be annoyed by it, to protest having to split the reward on hunts he was perfectly capable of doing on his own. He never liked Mandalorians. Mandalorians as a whole had looked down on Boba for as long as he could remember. They always seemed to dig up new reasons to hate him and his father, and Boba couldn’t deny that most of his own actions only gave them new ammunition. This Mandalorian, it seemed, had no idea who Boba or his father were. Boba had never quite experienced cin vhetin before. Hadn’t thought he ever would.
It was strange for Boba, then, to look at the Mando’s unpainted helmet, not unlike his own father’s, and have the Mandalorian looking back at him just see him as… A person. A vod, even. It honestly wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the Mandalorian was kind to him. It was nice. It made Boba feel uneasy. The Mandalorian was pleasant to be around. Boba wanted so badly to hate the way the Mandalorian made him feel. He could never make himself do it. He often felt himself fighting against a warmth that blossomed in his chest when he looked at the man.
The Mando was blunt and curt, and he seemed to hate small talk. He had an unexpected knack for negotiation and deescalating situations where violence wasn’t needed, but was perfectly able to start and end his own fights when necessary. He made a nice team with Boba, they balanced each other out. They fell into lockstep when fighting together, like they were always made to be a unit. Feeling comfortable around someone else should have made Boba nauseous, but the Mando always managed to be an exception.
Today’s hunt that they had been hired on as a pair consisted of two targets that were to be brought in together. Coconspirators on something or other. Boba didn't care about the politics. A male Togruta with montrals that arched upwards like a crescent moon, and a human woman with long elaborate braids. The twin holopucks painted pictures that would be easy to recognize in a group.
Boba had decided that they’d leave Mando’s ship at the port where the bounty was assigned and take the Slave 1 together to the planet the bounties had last been spotted on. Docking prices were always exceptionally high on the latter planet, and Mando seemed to live in a constant state of barely having enough credits to scrape by. Boba had no idea how a man who kept such meager possessions and never took breaks from bounty hunting managed to spend all the clink he earned so quickly. Boba would not admit to himself that he had made the offer deliberately to look out for Mando and his mysterious money habits.
It was a stupidly fancy planet, Boba had told him, and the Mando had agreed. The fact that the bounties had chosen it was a mistake on their part - anyone not dressed like an extravagant moron was in a minority. This, of course, included the rare sight of two people in full Mandalorian armor moving together, so the hope was that the hunters would be the ones to spot the two outlaws first.
They’d managed to hone in on the targets’ locations, heads and eyes tracking across the crowded street.
“There,” the Mandalorian spoke quietly, “there's one of them. They haven't seen us yet, it looks,” Boba followed his helmet's gaze. The Togruta was standing in front of a vendor’s stall, his back to the bounty hunters.
“Keep an eye out for the other one.” Boba positioned himself behind the Mando to watch his six. “Don't want to fall into an amb-”
Two things happened in rapid succession. One, a blaster shot pinged off of Boba's head from the target that had apparently known they were being watched. And two, he heard a loud exclamation of pain from the Mando.
Fett had his gun drawn and aimed in an instant. Both targets were together now, on the run; weaving in and out of the panicking crowd. It was like these Inner Rim freaks had never seen a blaster being fired before. Boba could just make out the tops of the Togruta’s montrals as he fled.
“ Shit, they're running for it..!” Boba hissed, turning his head back to check on Mando. “Don't want to risk trying to shoot them from… here,” his words trailed off.
The Mando was clutching a deep tear across his abdomen, his tan armorweave turning a concerning shade of red. Boba could begin to hear Mando’s vocoder picking up his pained breaths.
“I'm fine,” he was clearly lying. “I'll be right behind you. Don't stop for me,” that wound was bleeding too much to leave alone. Shit, they got him good. The human woman had changed her hair, Boba realized. She managed to get close without either hunter noticing.
“Like hell I'm going to leave you behind with a wound like that,” Boba growled. Mando straightened up in an obvious attempt to conceal how hurt he was.
“Fett, they're getting-” Mando cut himself off with a deep intake of air through gritted teeth when Boba started pulling at the armorweave on his stomach. He needed to find out how badly Mando was hurt.
“You are going to bleed out if I just leave you alone with that,” it was hard to gauge if he was looking at a cut or a stab wound, but it was big and the blood that began seeping past Boba’s fingers told him all he needed to know.
“You're not seriously going to just let them- quit it,” Mando's voice became a breathy hiss. Okay, maybe Boba had applied pressure to the wound a little harder than he should have to get Mando to stop talking. Up close like this, the other man's small noises of pain with every inhale and exhale were impossible to ignore.
“We're getting you back to the ship, and stitching you up. Got that?” Boba took a minute to check his surroundings. The blaster fire had all but cleared out the street, they were the only ones left. No one wants to be in the way of a pair of angry Mandos, Boba supposed. Especially not rich Inner Rim assholes. At least it’d make getting back to the Slave quicker.
“ El- elek. ” Mando gave in. He began attempting to walk towards the ship, but Boba quickly was at his side to support him. Mando stilled.
“I’m heavy,” he warned.
“I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't want to,” Boba huffed. Mando wrapped an arm around Boba and leaned some of his weight on him, and okay yeah, he was pretty heavy. Nothing Boba couldn't handle. He steadied himself, and they began the trudge towards the ship.
Mando wobbled concerningly a couple of times, but eventually they'd boarded the ship and Boba slammed the doors shut behind them. He took a moment to look at what he was dealing with. The fabric on the Mando's stomach had bloomed in red around the slash, and his breathing had become fast and uneven.
“Alright. I need you to work on taking off your chest armor and whatever else you can, while I get the medkit, okay?” Boba waited for the Mando to nod a confirmation before he practically sprinted to the cockpit.
The medkit was here the last time he'd seen it, where is it, where is- there we go. Boba nervously checked what he still had inside, and good. There was a nice suture kit and enough bacta to make sure the Mando could reapply it as he healed.
Boba returned to find that Mando had pulled off his chest plate, cloak, belt, and bandolier, but was struggling with the small clasps running along the sides of his flak vest.
“You need to sit down,” Fett ordered. Mando obeyed, landing a little heavily on one of the cabin jump seats. He'd managed to get the flak vest undone, but his backplate was making it hard to take off. Boba dropped the medkit next to Mando's foot, the other man looking up sharply as if the noise had startled him.
“Can you help with the back,” it sounded like Mando was whispering into his vocoder. He leaned forwards until his back was exposed, not wanting to twist at his midsection. Boba located the release on his backplate and pulled it off, then helped Mando shrug off his flak vest. Mando leaned over again, and Boba helped unzip what he guessed was a cummerbund and lifted it from the other man's flight suit as he pulled his hands away.
Mando audibly inhaled through his teeth. They were positioned close enough that Boba could hear every sound of pain, all the little breathy groans that slipped from Mando's mouth. If he closed his eyes, he even might be able to imagine that the sounds were from- NO. You're NOT thinking about that when he's bleeding out on your ship.
There was still a layer of clothing over the wound, and for a moment Boba worried that the Mando’s flight suit was like his own, one solid piece. Then Mando began to lift at the fabric by his waist, revealing his bare skin. He was pale, lighter than Boba. Human, probably. Boba refused to let his gaze linger any lower than the gash that was seeping blood just above his navel. He was suddenly reminded of some of the other strong feelings he had towards the Mandalorian.
“Were you stabbed or cut?” Boba asked.
“Stabbed. Then she yanked the blade to the side when taking it out,” Mando spoke quickly, and Boba winced in sympathy. He popped open the medkit and grabbed a clean cloth to get a better look under the blood, before reconsidering and taking off his gloves. He splashed a little disinfect onto his hands, then poured some on the cloth and began dabbing at the wound.
“Dank Ferrik,” “Kriff,” “Karking hell,” and other colorful curses starting trailing from Mando's mouth. Boba gently laid his spare hand on Mando's knee, on the fabric below his thigh plate, and started rubbing circles into it with his thumb.
The area was still bleeding a concerning amount, and Boba couldn't tell how deep into Mando’s stomach the blade had reached. He wasn't in any hurry to dig around in there to see. Hopefully, stitches and bacta would be enough. It was all he could do.
He kneeled down so he wouldn't have to bend his back to see what he was doing, ending up between the Mando's splayed legs. Boba pulled the medkit over so it was half under the chair for easy access, and retrieved the suture kit.
“You could just- cauterize it,” Mando's words carried between intakes of breath.
“You're on my ship and you're getting the medical care I give you,” Boba warned. “This is too deep. If I tried cauterizing this, I'd just end up digging around in the gash, and bacta alone would just leave you with an open wound until it healed.”
Mando grumbled at this, but then he let his head fall backwards and looked away from Boba. Boba worried for a moment that Mando had somehow passed out on him, but when he looked back down from the man's head he could see his hands were moving, repeatedly gripping and releasing the base of the jump seat.
Boba grabbed a packet of coagulant gel, checking to make sure it wasn't expired before ripping it open and gently spreading it over the wound. Mando's breath caught sharply at his touch, and a shiver rippled through his body. Boba tried to get it into the cut without having to spread the slit open. He gave the gel a moment to work, watching as the trickles of blood slowed to a crawl. He wiped around the wound with the disinfectant covered cloth again, mumbling an apology at Mando’s quiet hissing. Boba was glad he hadn't opted to give chase to the bounties, leaving Mando behind to treat this by himself would have been a major gamble.
Boba retrieved the forceps and, thankfully, a pre-threaded curved needle from the medkit’s suture kit, holding one in each hand. He also grabbed the tiny pair of scissors and placed them where he could quickly grab them.
Boba had done enough stitches on himself that it was a simple process doing them to someone else. Pierce the needle through each side of the cut. Loop the long side of the thread twice around the forceps, use them to grab the short side and pull it through those loops. Wrap the long side around the forceps twice again, and pull the short end though again. Do it again. The knot needs to be tight. Cut the threads so that each new stitch is separate, and move to the next part of the wound.
Time passed by, the only sounds being the clinking of the tiny scissors when Boba put them down to pick the forceps back up and the small sounds of Mando's pain. At some point, Mando had placed his right hand between the green of Boba's collarbone armor and the yellow of his pauldron. He'd eventually begun gently worrying the fabric of Boba's cape between his fingers.
“That's the last stitch,” Boba spoke. Mando seemed to leave the dazed state he'd entered, quickly pulling his hand back from Boba's shoulder. He found himself missing the contact. “I'll clean you up a little bit, then we're getting bacta on that.”
Boba stood, he hadn't realized how uncomfortable his knees had gotten from kneeling that whole time. Mando moved to stand as well, but Boba laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. Boba gave him his best intimidating helmet glare.
“I’m getting water and a few towels. You are going to stay right there,” he commanded. “Alright?” He added after a moment, softening his tone. Mando nodded, and didn't try to stand again.
Boba grabbed the first clean bowl he found and quickly filled it with water from the little sink in the Slave’s tiny kitchen. He placed it by Mando's feet, and retrieved a few rags he knew didn't have any oil or paint on them.
“Okay,” Boba spoke mostly to himself. He dampened a rag and began to clean at the blood that still covered Mando's exposed stomach. In his hurry to patch the man up, he had only wiped away directly around the wound before. He was now forced to finally get a good look at the skin below Mando's navel, only to see…
“You have tattoos ?” Boba couldn't help but ask.
“I was waiting for you to comment on them,” Mando’s voice was a bit shaky, but it had a warmth to it that Boba didn't get to hear very often. “That's probably the one I regretted the most,” he had more?
Laid under the Mandalorian’s navel, on either side of the little bit of hair right under it and splayed pretty along his hip bones, was a pair of jaig eyes tattooed into his skin. Boba was glad he'd refused to look down before starting to stitch him up. He doubted he would have been able to quickly and efficiently stitch up the Mando if he had seen, quite possibly, the sexiest karking tattoo he'd ever seen in his life looking back at him from above the man's waistband. Dank Farrik. Boba would never be able to see a pair of jaig eyes again without thinking of Mando's beautiful hips. What a wonderful curse.
Boba pushed those thoughts back where they came from. Mando was still hurting. He still had blood covering his stomach. That wasn't sexy, it was concerning. He suddenly became aware of just how much direct skin to skin touching was involved with wiping away the blood. How long had it been since anyone touched the Mandalorian’s bare skin? How many had shared this honor? Enough of that, he told himself.
“I didn't think you were the type to get ink,” Boba tried to distract himself from the way the jaig eyes were making him feel by making small talk as he worked. “You're never without your armor, when do you even have time to get those done?”
“Usually it's when I've been hurt badly enough for my covert to force me into taking bedrest,” Mando chuckled as he spoke. Boba could see the rise and fall of his chest, and he was not feeling a certain way about the slight softness formed in his midsection by his slouched posture. “Maybe I'll have to get something new after this. Any ideas?”
The only idea Boba had at the moment was to get down on his knees again and wrap his hands around those jaig eyes and wrap his mouth around- Nope. No more of that. He wouldn't admit that with a knife to his throat. There's an idea.
“M-maybe something to do with the knife that got you?” Boba mumbled. He’d finished wiping down Mando’s stomach, and grabbed the bacta applier and a large piece of rectangular gauze from the medkit. The soft sounds Mando made as Boba sprayed the wound made Boba very thankful for his codpiece. He silently cursed his traitorous body.
Mando was just a fri- no, an ally. Boba did not have friends. If he did, then maybe Mando would be- NO. Boba Fett did not have friends, he did not fall head over heels in love, all Boba Fett did was have enemies and allies. Mando was NOT shattering every rule that he lived by, and he was NOT rapidly breaking down the barriers Boba kept between his work and his bedmates.
“Hm. Maybe,” Mando was still catching his breath from the bacta. Boba placed the rectangular gauze over the wound, and looked at the bandage roll he needed to secure it with. Right when he thought he was done having to touch the Mandalorian, too.
“I need to wrap these around you so that the bandage won't slip,” Boba kept his voice soft. Mando nodded, and Boba used a bit of medical tape to secure the start of the roll to the larger gauze, then leaned down to begin wrapping it around Mando's midsection. The man had crossed his hands up behind his shoulders so Boba wouldn't have to avoid any elbows, and stars did that make a pretty picture. Nope, nope, nope, nope. No more of that.
He focused on his own hands instead of the body in front of him. The roll is in his right hand. He moves it behind Mando's back. He reaches for it with his left hand, and then brings it around Mando's stomach, switching hands again and repeating the process. He did this until he was certain the large piece of gauze was wrapped tight and not going anywhere, and used those small scissors to cut the end point of the bandage roll, and fixed it in place with more medical tape.
Boba stood up straight and backed up from between Mando's knees, checking his work. Looked good, looked secure. Mando's legs were spread wide and the top of his flight suit was pulled up just below his pectorals. His helmet sat at an angle, like it did when the man asked a question. It was almost an invitation. Boba could not imagine anything less than a fight that could be worse for those stitches than exactly what he wanted to do to the Mandalorian. He wondered absently if Mando wanted the same thing. He watched the man's covered head tilt from one side to the other, slowly, as if he was showing off his throat. Without his cowl and cape, a tiny sliver of his bare neck became visible at the action's midpoint. There might have even been a little ink there, too.
Boba wanted to latch down on the skin there, to leave marks up and down that neck. He wanted- he needed to get the kriff out of this room with Mando before he jumped him and they snapped those stitches one by one.
“You're good to go. How’re you feeling?” Boba forced himself to keep an even tone.
“Better,” he paused. “A little dizzy, but the bacta’s sure to help with that.” If Mando knew what he was doing to Boba, his voice didn't show it. Of course he's not interested. Why would Boba ever think that? He’s… Mando still hadn't pulled his flight suit back down.
“You should rest. I'll let you borrow my bunk up by the cockpit, I think you need it far more than I do right now,” Boba offered. The Mando nodded, finally pulling the top of his flight suit down and covering his stomach back up. Boba tried not to mourn the loss.
The Mando glanced down at the pile of his clothes and armor that had been ungracefully piled on the floor by his feet. After a moment, he sighed, then he tapped something on each of his vambraces and they split open. He let them drop a little roughly on the floor next to the rest of his gear. His hands went up to his pauldrons and he pressed something on the underside of them, and they both clanged to the floor at the same time. He then reached under a spot on his thigh armor and lifted each plate off his legs, dropping them with the rest. He began to bend at the waist to try and pull off his boots, before stopping with a hissing exhale. He looked up at Boba.
“Can you help me with these?” His voice was soft as he asked. Boba mentally shook himself from the dazed state watching Mando suddenly decide to shed his armor in front of him had put him in. Boba kneeled down and tugged off one of Mando’s boots at a time, discovering what he'd assumed to be calf high boots were actually greaves over ankle high boots. He decided he ought to pull the greaves off as well, along with the blue bit of knee armor Mando had on one leg. There was an unexpected sound of something metal hitting the floor, and Boba looked down to find a vibroblade had fallen from where it was stashed in one of Mando's greaves. He was a little surprised it had taken as long as it had to spot a weapon on the man. Boba stood back up once he was done with Mando's legs.
The Mandalorian was smaller without any of his armor or extra layers, but he was still bulkier than Boba. Part of his broad shoulders were formed by his pauldrons extending an already broad silhouette, but that little taper to his waist Boba loved staring at was more apparent than ever without so many layers of fabric covering it up. Boba wanted to grab onto it and sit himself down across Mando's spread legs.
“Do you think you'll be fine with the ladder up to the bunk?” He chose to ask instead.
“If you stand behind me to stop me if I fall, I can make it,” Mando answered. It had never occurred to Boba how softly the other man must be speaking into his vocoder every time he talked. He imagined that if he were to remove the helmet, it would take some time for him to adjust to not having his voice amplified.
Mando stood, and Boba was reminded that the guy had a good few inches of height over him. Boba hadn't moved far from where he'd been pulling off Mando's boots, so they were suddenly face to face. Boba swallowed, then backed up.
“After you,” Boba gestured to the ladder. Mando walked over to it, gait slow but steady. He raised his arms to the rungs, and Boba fell into place behind him. Mando's breathing had evened out a bit. Good.
Thankfully, Mando managed to make the short climb without incident. He had gotten to the cockpit and then stopped moving.
“I think you'll have to open the door that's up here..?” His voice trailed off.
Boba climbed quickly, and inputted the code to open the small room he bunked in when he wasn't up to sleeping in the pilot's seat. He was thankful that his bed was in a decent enough state, and there weren't any tripping hazards laying on the floor.
Mando began walking into the room, and right when Boba was getting ready to shut the door so the guy could have his privacy, Mando turned to look at him. It probably hurt to twist at the waist, so he had to turn his whole body to face Boba.
“Join me?”
“What was that?” Boba… Boba had to have misheard that. Mando's visored gaze lowered slightly, like he was steeling himself.
“I want you to join me. In bed,” his voice was louder now. More sure.
“I-,” Boba stuttered. He can't be- “Let me set up the ship's security systems, then I'll join you?” Boba still couldn't believe what he was hearing, but Mando hummed contentedly as he nodded, then turned to start walking to the bed.
Boba had never enabled the security on Slave 1 so fast in his life. Mando was interested. He liked Boba. He was waiting for him in bed.
Every last shred of reluctance to admit how he felt about the Mandalorian went out the window. Stars, Boba loved that man. Mando felt like home. He loved getting to see him whenever their paths crossed, loved talking to him, loved the way that Mando made him feel like he could be a complete person again. Mando had broken down every emotional wall Boba had put up, with nothing more than constant kindness and patience. He was hot, yes. Boba wanted to know what he was like in bed within hours of meeting him. But the way the man made him feel cared for? The way he worried about Boba like it was only natural to want to know if he was alright? Boba hadn’t thought himself capable of truly loving anyone like he loved the Mandalorian.
Boba entered the bedroom to find Mando laid on his back, off to the side of the bed to leave room for Boba. A shiny helmet lifted to look at him as the door opened.
“I hope you're not planning on wearing your armor to bed,” Mando spoke. Boba loved hearing that voice, too. Boba made quick work of his own armor, leaving it in a slightly more orderly pile in the corner of the bedroom, at least compared to the heap Mando had left downstairs. Down to his flight suit, he considered for a moment whether he should keep it on or strip to his underwear.
“Take it off or I will,” Mando made the decision for him. Boba unzipped the flight suit, the timbre of Mando's voice stirring something pleasant below the belt. He felt his body showing its interest, and flushed a bit at the realization.
“Sorry,” Mando had noticed, apparently. “I'm… Not in any shape to do something about that. Not tonight,” Mando sounded a little frustrated with himself. Not tonight. There was going to be another night after this. And another one after that. Boba had never been a fan of commitment, but he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the man waiting for him in bed.
There was just one thing left. His… Helmet. Kark, he knew he'd forgotten something. Boba had never shown Mando his face before. The man was one of those Child-of-Watch types, and Boba didn't know how he'd react to it. Didn't want to know.
“I've heard others say you take off your helmet. Is that right?” Mando's tone hadn't lost any of its softness, but Boba still felt a chill down his spine. He nodded.
Mando hummed. “Then you… Aren't Mandalorian,” what had been a sweet tone before had rapidly become cloying to Boba's ears. “You told me your armor was passed down to you from your father,” Mando continued.
“He wanted me to have it, when he died. It happened a lot sooner than he expected it to. I never really got to learn what it really meant to be a Mandalorian,” Boba spoke. He kept any emotion out of his voice.
“Look at me, Boba,” that was the first time Mando had ever used Boba's first name. Boba looked into the inky blackness of Mando's visor. “You honor your father's memory. You care for his armor. He wanted you to have it, and you wear it with pride. You,” his voice trailed off, then he seemed to gather his thoughts. “I took an oath when I was a child to never show my face to another living being again. You've made no such promise. You do not disgrace your father's memory by removing your helmet,” he paused. “Let me see your face?” The conviction in his voice had softened back into something soothing.
Boba broke the seal on his helmet, then lifted it and placed it with the rest of his armor. He wasn't sure what expression he was making as he looked up at Mando.
“Mesh'la ,” Mando’s already soft voice was practically a whisper. Boba could have cried. “Come here,” Mando patted the bed next to himself.
Boba all but melted into the bed next to the Mandalorian. Boba laid on his side, pressing himself against the Mando. He hiked his top leg up and on top of Mando’s legs, and carefully stretched his top arm over Mando, mindful of his stitches, to pull himself as close as he could get. His waist was just as pleasant to hold as he expected. Mando's arm that was pinned between himself and Boba snaked its way under him and hooked itself around Boba's waist in turn.
Boba looked upwards to see a silver helmet looking back at him. He smiled.
“I love you,” Boba found himself saying.
“Love you, too,” Mando's voice was whisper soft. Boba nuzzled his head into Mando's shoulder.
“Din,” Mando spoke, after a moment.
“Hm?”
“My name. It's Din Djarin,” Mando paused. “I want you to use it. At least when we're alone.” His voice was starting to show the way the day had worn on him.
“I love you, Din.” Boba's words sent a slight shiver down Mando- no. Din’s body.
“I didn't take you for the sweet ‘n cuddly type,” Din mumbled. He was clearly flustered over his name being used.
“Yeah well, Din,” Boba was having fun watching Din react to his name. “You have that effect on me.” Boba pressed his forehead into the browline of Din's helmet. Din’s breath hitched, and then Boba felt pressure as the mirshmure'cya was returned.
He felt some deep part of his soul unwind and soften as he heard Din's breathing even out with sleep. Boba followed soon after, the hand around his waist keeping him pressed to the comforting warm body next to him.