Archive of Our Own

"I'll take your cock into my mouth and slip two fingers into your ass to get you ready for me."

Din moans on the other end, a breathy little thing that Cobb eagerly swallows.

"I'd have to get you off at least once before you're even ready for my cock. Get you all relaxed and soft. And after you've come down my throat, I'd get your legs around my hips and—"

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

"Shit," Cobb swears.

"What?" Din says, breathless. "What is it?"

Cobb can only imagine what the Mandalorian looks like now. His flushed skin, warm as his heart pumps more voraciously to fill his cock. Talking over comms only enables so much during moments of intimacy as Cobb hurriedly sets his feet on the ground to slip back into his work denim, sans briefs.

The knock continues, and in Freetown, most don't bother him off the clock, so it must be an emergency.

"Someone's at the door," he says. "I'll have to bail early."

He hears Din sigh heavily on his ends and Cobb can feel his disappointment.

They both click off, and Cobb, with his rapidly flagging erection, pulls on a shirt that hands low on his thighs to cover what remains of his arousal. And good thing, too, because when he opens the door, he finds his deputy, Jo, on the other side of it. As part of her training, she takes the graveyard shifts until two in the morning before heading in for the night. They have better boundary alarms now than they used to, but a bit of time is needed to ensure people make it home safely.

"What is it?" he asks.

Job's brow wrinkles in a sign of distaste. "Did I catch you at a bad time?"

He rolls his eyes and jams his feet into his boots. "What do you need?"

"One of the banthas ran off. Big Betty."

Cobb sighs. "Hardly an emergency."

"You know she only listens to you."

He follows Jo out into the dark of night, tracking the drag path of Betty's tail. She's a stubborn old gal and does as she pleases, including night time sojourns. They find her in due time and Cobb claps his hands together to get her attention.

"Okay, Betty, let's get you turned around now." She lows as Cobb sets his hands on one of her horns to gently guide her in the right direction. "There we go."

"I don't know how you do it," Jo says. "She'd trample me if I ever tried to touch her."

"She's old and she's opinionated," Cobb says. "She won't hurt no one."

The way back is slow, matching with Betty's pace, but it gives Jo the time to settle some business.

"What are we gonna do for the Three Sisters next week?"

"With what?" Cobb asks. "The banthas?"

"That and everything else. Aren't the Tuskens coming?"

"Haven't heard from any one of theirs yet."

"Might be a lot of people."

"Then we can spill out into the desert. I don't see how big of an issue it is. Look." She does look at him but only in the slightest. "You do a down right fine job as a deputy. Got a keen eye for details, but this is one of those things where we won't need to worry all that much. Three Sisters is for people to kick back, play a few rounds of sabaac, and if any of the townies get too in their cups, you call me over, and I'll handle it."

He looks at her, really looks at her and how she holds her rifle in her hands with a sense of seriousness. "Hey." He sets a hand on her shoulder. "You're doing a good job. Relax."

She breathes out. "I don't know how you did all this on your own."

"I don't recommend it."

They see Betty off with the small bantha herd and Cobb stays to walk Jo to the office. "Cut out early," he says, leaving no room for arguments.

"You're not good at this mentor stuff."

"Gotta keep your expectations low."

He collapses back into the bed with a sigh. He picks up his comm-link and fires off a message to Din.

<<sorry about that. loose bantha. you know how it goes.>>

<<i'll make it up to you>>

He does not expect a response at this hour, and yet he receives it all the same.

>>how will you do that<<

He grins and begins typing up the most enlightened smut only a frustratingly horny man could put to text.

<<i'll bend you over my speeder first we're out in the wastes. no one should be out there with us but it's a slim chance we'll be caught i'd get your flight suit over your hips and spit in my hand to get you as wet as a cunt>>

>>id bring lube more comfortable<<

<<sure, princess i'd get you so wet, slick on your thighs until you're shaking then i'd get my cock out and slowly push into you. but i wouldn't fuck you fast. i'd start slow, get you desperate for it and that's how i'd fuck you. slow. thoughtful. not even touching your dick. and you're getting so riled up>>

>>doesnt sound like me<<

<<it will be you>>

<<you'll be so hungry for it you won't be able to do anything more than beg for me to fuck you harder and i will. when i think you're ready for it and then i'll pound you i'll fuck you harder than you ever have been, nailing into your prostate with every thrust until your cock is leaking into your flight suit>>

>>you didnt even get my dick out?<<

<<and you'll cum from that alone. i don't even have to touch you you're that hungry for it and then i'll slow my pace while you're whimpering for it and take my time because that's my cunt. that's my pussy and i'd cum in you. fill you up until you can practically taste it for good measure, i'd plug your sweet ass and expect you to ride home like that so you don't waste what i give you>>

>>wow<<

<<that's all???>>

>>no no<<

>>i liked it i think itd be better to fuck after first sunset<<

<<probably i'll catch you in the morning>>

>>please do<<

A sandstorm sits on the horizon for two days before blowing over Freetown. A slow moving storm means likely lasting cover for a last a day, so Cobb and Jo spend their two days running about the town getting everything ready. The banthas are left to free roam as they usually don't care for sandstorms and they'll find water on their own.

They board up windows and check storm hatches. They conduct house inspections to ensure air filters are working and vaporators won't be collecting dust and ruining water supplies. Lastly, they set up the external lightning rods to direct static away from the town and institute a curfew two hours before the storm descends.

Once the storm is knocking on their doorstep, Cobb leads Jo through a final sweep of the town before ending her on home to her parents, leaving Cobb the only one left standing.

He has his scarf pulled up over his nose and mouth and a pair of speeder googles drawn down over his eyes. He can feel the electricity in the air. He's not sure what it is about storms like this but it gives him the strange urge to recklessly wander into it and be torn apart.

What it's like to be surrounded by all that energy? To feel the sand upon his skin like a lover's caress before his flesh is rendered from his bones?

Before he succumbs to this madness, he finally descends the steps of his home and closes himself off inside.

Cobb finds himself alone. Probably for the best. He gets a bit crazy, what they call 'sand sick' when he has to hunker down. He once bunked with Taanti but after Taanti had witnessed his state, Cobb knew he was destined to manage this on his own. Which is only fair. Cobb hasn't been good roommate material in years.

With his right shoulder replaced with wires and metal and tubes and such things, it requires a lot more considerate aftercare. Since his near fatal shootout with Cad Bane—and the unfortunate loss of Scott that has Cobb still feeling odd to this day—Cobb's new routine,e specially after a dusty day involves cleaning out any sand and grit that's gotten into it. The odd part is that he has some semblance of feeling in it when he inserts a fine tipped brush into all the bits he can't normally clean in. It feels like a light jolt of electricity that he can normally feel in his teeth and down his spine. The leather covering he usually keeps over his shoulder to protect it keeps out the worst of it, but after a sandstorm, it requires some finesse to get it fully cleared out.

Once finished, he steps into the sonic first and lets the dirt and dust be rattled loose from his body. After, he dresses in loose clothes and heads into the living room. He reaches for his music player first, picking up one of his few physical discs and sets it on the music table. Music is always better than silence.

He heads into the kitchen pulls out his everything pot. He keeps his food simple. Rice. Some sort of canned mystery meat and creamed mushrooms. A lazy meal as he sets it to cook as he reaches for some (top shelf liquor) and pours himself a double shot.

He eats, drinks, and croons to his music, not necessarily in that order, before he has a second helping of both food and drink and retires to his couch. It's a ratty thing that sits a bit too low to the ground. He has a blanket spread over top of it to hide where couch stitching is starting to rip or has been ripped for years. The only reason why he hasn't gotten rid of it is: 1) he doesn't want to figure out the shipping to get a new one out here, and 2) it's long enough for him and broken into his body.

Once he's settled, he stops the music and turns on his holoplayer. He turns on one of his preferred holofilms since storms like this wreck havoc on comms which means he can't access any live news, shows, or reruns of the latest pod races. It also means he can't message his favourite booty call.

So he entertains himself with an old recording from an off-world production. The Diamond of Canto-Bight. A melodramatic production where the main love interest dies to save the lead. Real good stuff. It keeps him entertained enough where he eventually nods off and wakes to the credits. At which point he stretches and stands to dig out his herbal stash.

He keeps some dried and pinched leaves from a particularly pungent and frowned upon substance in a clay pot in the most auspicious place in his house: next to the salt and dried chili pepper pots by the stove. The papers he keeps in his junk drawer, also found in his kitchen. He makes a quick joint with practiced ease and lights up with his stove top. He enjoys his smoke as any other man and as he relaxes, one part of him becomes particularly interested.

It's easy to hold the join between his lips as a sneaks a hand down his trousers to give his cock a gentle squeeze. He pluck the joint from his lips and blows out the smoke above him as his cock quickly fills his hand.

He conjures up the Mandalorian as his muse. He's on his knees in this. It would be sacrilege to remove his helmet to use his mouth, but it is a tempting thought to imagine what it would feel like.

Is Din an experienced cocksucker? Are his lips soft? Will he drool? Does he use his teeth? Will he get hard from it?

Cobb strokes himself until he's overcome by the desire and the actual physical release of the thought of cumming over Din's shiny bucket. White opacity covering the surface in a way that would sate a dark part of him that wants to own Din in some way. To leave his mark and have Din know that it'll stay there no matter how much he polishes it.

He cums hard and he nearly drops his spliff on the couch. He wipes the mess on his trousers and enjoys the moment of lucidity before he gets up to clean himself off and start a meager load of laundry.

He heads to bed shortly after.

In the following morning, or whenever it is, he wakes, drinks water, and stands in his kitchen as he listens to the howling wind outside. The storm was predicted to last only a day, nothing extreme, but he's left with a considerable mount of time on his hands.

He then spots the massive pieces of ivory sitting on his coffee table. The boar's tusks present a tantalizing puzzle. They will make great quality handles for knives, perhaps comb if he's careful. If he's feeling ambitious he might try to make a whistle or flute from it.

But he gets caught on one thing.

Dildos, Din said. Tuskens sometimes carve the things into sex toys. Genius move, really. The material is well suited for it.

Well. He did want to surprise Din with something before Three Sisters.

He takes out a set of knives and whittle tools and spreads them out onto the coffee table. He puts on an old audio recording, a radio play he likes. It's about two slaves moving into the marriage quarters in Mos Eisley and figuring out how to live together. It's humorous, made for former slaves themselves who wanted to capture a slice of good with the bad. It makes Cobb feel decidedly cozy and something he once wished for himself many, many years ago.

As he holds one of the tusks in his hands, he marks notches out some marks for the length of the dildo he has in mind. He bites his lip as he mentally compares the size of it to his own dick. He does want Din to have something that will remind him of Cobb, of course.

The process is slow, thoughtful. He makes sure strokes of the tools as he slices into the ivory. Flakes litter the ground and Cobb finds himself falling into an easy rhythm. Within a few hours, he has a rough shape of the cock. At the least the size of it.

From there, he begins to round it out, give the base a solid, wide flare so it can stand on its won. The head of it he rounds out like his own. A man of his age is typically well acquainted with his own cock so it is easy to carve the thing from memory.

And if he embellishes anything, who's to know?

A knock on the door jerks him from his reverie. He sets everything aside and quickly peers out of one of his ground floor windows. Busty, but otherwise clear. The storm has passed and it's time to dig out.

Once he's appropriately dressed, he heads out, meeting Jo at the top of his steps. They will need to be swept, but the main focus after a storm is the equipment. Generators and vaporatos first. By the time he returns home, he's tired and dusty, but his mind is set on the carving. His hands are near ceaseless but a little after the peak of the moons, he has it.

It stands proud and sits flat. There are parts that will need to be smoothed out and rubbed with oil, but it is otherwise complete. It's then that his comm-link blinks. Three messages from Din pop up.

>>i hate politics<<

>>i hate other mandalorians too. never thought id say that<<

>>are you there?<<

<<yeah i'm here>>

<<sorry. dust storm. no comms out but we're good>>

<<i should've sent a message out before hand but lost track of time>>

>>it's okay<<

It's brief. Nothing more than that. And there's no follow up to it either.

<<are you busy?>>

>>yeah<<

<<want me to call?>>

>>cant<<

Cobb sighs.

>>maybe tomorrow?<<

<<of course>>

Cleaning up takes another day after that. It's mostly righting things, sweeping out dusty, but the town emerges unscathed.

When he settles down for the night, it's with a rage and some neutral oil. He dabs the rag in some and picks up the dildo. He then begins to drag the cloth over the surface of it, pausing only to sand out rough edges and brushing away the flakes. once the ivory begins to take a sheen, he sets everything aside and pulls up his comm.

you good to chat?

Din doesn't respond for another thirty minutes. at which point, Cobb stretches and makes some tea. An herbal remedy meant to help his joins. He figures he needs to eat and drink clean until the Festival.

Once he's settled, he finds Din's response.

>>i am now<<

Cobb makes the holo connection. Din's appearance makes him smile.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Cobb says.

"Can't imagine you are seeing much," Din responds in that characteristically dry tone of his.

"It's the shape of you that's familiar."

"No one has told me they like my shape."

"Shame It's a good one." Cobb picks up the rag and begins to stroke his ivory. "Anything on your mind? You seemed . . . tense yesterday."

Din sighs and his shoulders sag. Then he begins to shift in and out of frame as his pauldron disappear. "I never told you. I am suddenly one of the most important Mandalorians around."

"Really? Well, that's a tall tale. How'd that happen?"

"I came into possession of an ancient relic," Din says. "A weapon designated to the rules of Mandalore."

"that sounds pretty ominous."

"It has not made my life much easier." Cobb expects Din to end there, but he continues with more words than Cobb has ever received from the Mandalorian at once. "For much of my life, I thought there was only one way to live as a Mandalorian, but I was mistaken. And since this relic has entered my possession, I have found myself the reluctant leader for a band of people who like to fight to settle arguments."

Cobb whistled. "That's a story right there."

"I am a bounty hunter, Cobb," Din says with some frustration to his words. "What am I supposed to do? What do I know about being a leader?"

" I mean. I can answer that. You really smoothed things over between us and the Tuskens."

When Din settles in frame, he collapses back in his seat, giving Cobb a look at his body clad in only his flight suit and helmet.

"Are you not able to just . . . pass all this along to someone else?" Cobb asks.

"It is complicated. That and I have many who think I am the ideal candidate. I have no family claim to motivate my decisions. I am a seasoned warrior. I defeated the Moff who glassed our planet. And I have been exiled from my tribe so I am truly alone."

Cobb frowns. "Exiled. What do you mean?"

Din sighs. "It is a long story."

"I have time."

Din lays it out for him. What followed after he killed the krayt. A story of Imps. The arrival of Boba Fett. The kidnapping of the Child. The ensuing fight to free him and Din's damnation—the remove of his helmet.

"It is from an older belief," he says. "We must not show our faces otherwise it risks the safety of our people. Exile is often expected until we can atone."

"And what does that include?"

"Bathing in the Sacred Waters of Mandalore. Which are inaccessible.."

Cobb hums. "How do you feel about that?"

"I do not . . . I don't know. I have lost much. And now I am expected to lead a scattered people."

Cobb finds it difficult to ask further questions. He is vastly unfamiliar with the nature of Mandalorians and their history as a people, but there is one thing he knows he can ask.

"And what about the kid? He all good?"

Din nods in a heavy, tired fashion. "He is with people who can properly care for him."

"I'd say you did right by him. You were a good guardian to him."

Din hums and remains silent.

"You know, it may seem hard now," Cobb says. "Trying to get your folk together after all you've been through. But you've already made it this far. Reminds me of when Freetown first got off the ground. All desperate people from all walks of life. Farmers, miners, escaped slaves. And a lot of us had no homes or lost them. We didn't have much in common beyond trying to scrape a living together. It took time but we found our rhythm. We had disagreements and eventually it became apparent that we needed a position like mine. A mediator. Someone who's trustworthy."

"Trustworthy," Din says.

"Uh huh."

After Din sits in silence, Cobb feels he's past discussing the matter

"What are you doing right now?" Din asks.

Cobb smirks. "It's a surprise. For when you come back."

"Right. Three days?"

"Mhmm."

"I'll be down to meet Fett beforehand. If we can, I'd like to continue this tomorrow."

"I'll be all yours, handsome."

Cobb does not wait for Din to call the next night. Instead, he lies back in bed. He squirts some lube onto his hand and rubs it until it's warm enough before he sets hand on his dick. It's easy to get hard when he thinks about what he's going to do next.

Once he's hard, his dick standing proud, leaking at the tip, he reaches for the dildo and holds it next to his cock before he takes a picture. It's not the greatest quality, a bit blurry at the edges, but he sends it to Din anyway and jerks himself off in record time.

He's stretched out when his comm receives a string of messages

>>youre killing me<<

>>do you know how uncomfortable a cod piece is<<

>>what is that<<

>>is that the boar tusk<<

>>did you model it off your own dick<<

>>hang on<<

Incoming call.

"Hello," Cobb says as sweet as honey.

"Is that my gift?"

"Maybe. How much time you got?"

"Not enough."

"I can work with that. Get a hand on yourself. Spit in it. Don't do it dry."

There's some rustling on the other end before he hears a breathy sigh.

"Good?" Cobb asks.

"Mhmm."

"Okay. Keep touching yourself and think about that nice, smooth ivory plunging into your hole. Feel how firm it is. I hope it's big enough for you, or I might have to get creative. It has a base too. You could sit on that thing, plug yourself nice and deep as you ride it. You'd look good doing it too. You could tweak your nipples, stroke yourself off. And as your dick cums, you'll clench down hard on it. It'll keep you so full that it'll be hard to give up on in it."

Din grunts.

"You there yet?" Cobb asks.

"About."

"That's quick."

Din sighs in what is clearly annoyance.

"Keep going," Cobb says. "Make it feel good. Do it for me," he croons as Din's orgasm makes itself known with a punched out and need groan. "Keep stroking. Make it last."

When he hears Din breathe deeply, he stops, allowing Din to catch his breath.

"Two days," Din says.

"That's right. I'll make it worth your while."

"Please."

IN the day before Three Sisters is meant to kick off, the Tuskens do indeed arrive, the local tribe that they're most acquainted with. Through lengthy conversations over the year Cobb has known them, he's learned of their native name: Gar-Usk-Ora, or as Cobb can say: Wandering Bantha. Their leader is Bur'ak and the one Cobb always greets with hands on the other's shoulders and a vigorous nod that they recognize each other.

Since the krayt, their people have struck up an easy balance and truce. It took time for them to interact more than the bare minimum but now they have an ease sense of co-existence, so much so they now have a monthly market where the townies trad for goods only found in Tusken territory and the Tuskens can barter for items strictly found in settlements. They ere have been a few disagreements, but all Cobb has to do is whistle sharply and stare down whatever townie is making a fuss. For Jo, she has to assert herself a bit more, but she certainly isn't a pushover and isn't afraid to raise her voice and call out someone on their behaviour.

In the name of pace, the Tuskens have arrived to celebrate the return of the moons with the town. They have their own rituals they adhere to at this time of year, but the youths have asked if they could celebrate with the town, as friendships have been fast forming between the younger generations. The tribe elders have been in agreement to allow for this, and have so arrived a day early to prepare. They will pitch outside of town, and Cobb offers a helping hand should they need it, but otherwise leaves them to it.

He mills around town to assure some of the more spooked folk that this is all fine and good, but at this point most folk go about their day.

Eventually, he gets sequestered in his office for a bit as Jo demands he sign off on the forms he's been neglecting. As much as he hates paperwork, the day is breezy and he is otherwise unbothered for most of the day.

In the evening, he means to stop off at the cantina for a quick bite to eat, but he's quickly folded into the Tusken band as the warriors wish to hear of him felling the bladeback as well as the greater krayt.

Seeing as there's no harm in it and Cob is hoping it'll bolster his self image among them, he joins in their merrymaking where a fire has been built and tents pitched. His Tusken has been getting better as well, and conversation between them is not as stilted as it once was. He can pick up on some vocalizations and his sign isn't as bad, but he's still slow. Thankfully, they like him well enough to be patient and laugh when he uses the wrong word in a way that makes a situation humorous. Such as one time where he suggested a friendly competition of marksmanship in a way that came off as a proposition in a more romantic way. Thankfully, he's learned to let issues like that slide off his back.

He settles in with the warriors as they share with him their food. Roasted duneclaw and an assemblage of root vegetables. The spices are downright delicious and soon the spirits are brought forth. Some sort of Tusken hooch that Cobb's not acquainted with. He's given a full mug and he gives it a cursory sniff. It has an undertone of those bitter melons he shared with them, but distilled and refined. He takes a sip and finds it goes down smooth. A dangerous notion.

As he loosens up with the liquor in his belly, he recounts the story of the bladeback—the epic trip into the oasis with the Mandalorian at his side. How it had battered both of them in the ensuing fight, leaving them at the mercy of its vicious tusks before Cobb rose up on a knee and took aim, killing the mighty beast with a single shot through its eye.

One of the warriors, a chap known as G'arr'a who had been there to witness the felling of the beast, describes it in great detail, using his hands and arms to articulate the size and shape.

"A great beast," he concludes. "Many moons has it seen."

There are various nods and articulations of agreement, and Cobb's cup of ale is filled again as he is asked by another warrior, decorated with many teeth about her neck, to recount the slaying of the greater krayt.

So he does. He starts before the Mandalorian arrives in the story. He starts with his first recounting of the beast as it crawled along the Wastes, a massive omen for the town and all inhabitants in the region. He had never seen a krayt of that size or ferocity before, but then—he saw it jump.

"It came like this," he says, using his hand to show how the krayt emerged from the ground, its low almost graceful arc above the sand before it sank out of sight.

"It was too bit to take on my own," he says, signing as he goes. "But." He smirks. "I tried."

It was definitely stupid of him, but he kept track of it for weeks, locating its sporadic hunting grounds.

Ken'kha, the warrior with teeth about her neck, then speaks up. "It rose from its long slumber to feed. Great size means long rest."

There are murmurs of agreement among them, and Cobb continues his story.

He was on a canyon's ridge with his rifle in hand. He knew he could not kill it, but he tried anyway with a shot to the eye. It enraged the beast and drew its attention to where he was. He quickly knew he needed to leave.

"So I got on my speeder, and I open it up fully, streaming across the sands. Then." He holds up a single finger. "I hear it. Behind me. And I look." He poses himself as if he is piloting his speeder as he looks over his shoulder. "And I see it, and it seems me. So I look back forward and I drive. I drive as fast as I can and all the while, it's after me, but I have the distinct feeling its playing with me. It could've easily killed me, but it didn't." He pauses to gulp down the rest of his ale. His cup is refilled again.

"So I lead it through the bluffs, and I'm weaving and it's still following me. But i know if i want to survive, I have to duck out of sight. So i spot a cave,s small one up in a butte, and I know that's my one chance. So i loop the bastard around. Get him on sharp turns until I can get him off my back for just a moment. And once I'm free, I gun it. Okay?" I make a break for it and when I'm close, I jerk the steering, kick off and roll onto the dirt. And then I'm up. I'm running and duck into the cave just as the beast comes up on me. And I'm pressed back into the caves as far as I can go, space so small a bantha calf wouldn't be able to squeeze into it. Then it stops. Right before the cave and all I see are its teeth. Then it turns its eye is looking at me. And we stare at each other, and then it moves off."

He recalls the incident quite clearly. He thought he honestly might meet his end and what he knows of krayts now, he knows it clearly could have, but it didn't.

G'arr'a waves at him. "it knew you would lead to its end."

The other warriors nod in agreement.

"Well, I wouldn't say I landed the killing blow. That credit goes to the Mandalorian."

"Partnership," G'arr'a says and then he makes an unfamiliar sign.

"What's that there?" Cobb repeats the sign. "What does that mean?"

"It is special bond. Life liquid. Sibling."

Blood, Cobb interprets. Brothers.

"So like—" he makes the signs for blood and brother and G'arr'a nods. He makes the combined sign again and Cobb supposes he knows it well enough.

Blood brothers. It suits them.

After another cup of ale, he is feeling decidedly warm and loose. The end of the story becomes a collective process as the warriors share their own versions of the event. The story becomes humorous at times. It becomes tragic at others. It is everything heroic once the krayt explodes and the Mandalorian flies out triumphantly.

By this point in the night, many of them have had far too many drinks and when G'arr'a gestures at Cobb, a question, he thinks, Cobb nods. "Yeah, I'll do it." Even though he has little idea of what he's actually agreeing to.

It's hazy from there. He remembers taking off his shirt, the skin of his good shoulder cleaned, and then pinpricks of momentary pain.

And then he blacks out.

He wakes, sort of, in the gray morning light. He groans, his mouth horrendously dry and finds a pair of boots in front of him that's attached to a pair of legs, which he follows up to Jo's amused face.

"You have fun?" she asks.

He groans and rolls onto his side, finding the skin of his left shoulder tight as he pushes up onto his hands and knees.

Hm. He's shirtless.

He finds what he's looking for on the ground next to him along with his scarf. When he carefully gets to his feet, he pulls the shirt over his head, and that's when Jo draws attention to his shoulder.

"Nice ink," she says. "That some sort of initiation ritual?"

"Wha—?" He looks down at his shoulder and sees the fresh ink running down his upper arm. It is truly massive. "Huh. Must've been their swill."

"Didn't think you still had it in you for something like that."

"I don't. It went down smooth. That's the problem. Let me, uh, dust off and we can talk."

"Sure. I'll see you at the cantina then?"

He nods. "Best we do."

Cobb feels somewhat humbled in the sonic. He twists himself in the mirror as he inspects his new tattoo, set upon his body. It's been set with a faded dark, brown ink in a pattern that Cobb can only describe as looking 'toothy.' The lines were made in the pattern of the krayt upon the meat of his shoulder, curled into a circle and in the midst of that circle stood two figures, bearing helms that are very much the same. The Marshal and the Mandalorian. Bound together by that very krayt.

He doesn't want to think too much on the symbology of it all, so he freshens up for the day and carefully rubs some lotion onto the new tattoo. After pulling on a pair of clean clothes, putting himself together for Jo's sake, he splashes his face with some cold water and drinks down some pain killers to manage the raging headache to get started for the day. There's a lot to do before the Festival tonight.

The rest of the day falls into place after that. Cobb and Jo discuss the day's events before they divide and conquer: Cobb seeing to the Festival set up and Jo running point for food and drink. At mid-day, the miners return after ending shift early and resting during the peak of the suns' intensity. At this time, Cobb sends a quick message to Din.

i look forward to seeing you tonight

He doesn't expect a quick response. He knows all too well that Din is a busy man. Still. It would be nice.

As day changes to evening, changes to suns-set, changes to moons-rise, Cobb changes his clothes to something a bit more fun. Three Sisters is usually about abundance, welcoming back the scarce rainy season that will replenish their stores. It makes the time of year where temperatures will be cooler, and to celebrate this, the town folk dress in their finest and best. Cobb is no exception

He pulls out a navy pair of trousers that aren't held together by stitching and patches and a sleeveless black shirt with a high collar. With his right shoulder rebuilt as it is, the shirt no longer sits well on it, so he buckles on his shoulder covering to protect it as well as he can. But he mostly wants to ensure his tattoo has room to breathe.

He is not known to dress as he currently is. Some might consider him vain, and he is, especially when it comes to his beard and hair, but he is practical when it comes to his style of dress. He doesn't dress to show off to the town because there's no need to impress them—or flirt with them. He knows the folk too well to do that.

So he feels a bit awkward, cleaned up as he is, as he stands at the edge of the Festival grounds, keeping an eye out for a familiar shiny figure.

The Festival doesn't start with a central speech from a local figure, but by sending up a white paper lantern. Additional lanterns, decorated by the school kids are sent up with them as they represent the return of the three moons. Once the lanterns are sent off into the night sky, the music begins. A small contingent of string players start off with a jaunty tune. Food is uncovered, hot and ready. Drinks have been chilled and are being poured. There are games with small prizes to be won it. It is everything joyful, but Cobb hesitates to get too involved. Din still hasn't responded to his earlier message, and as the moons creep up closer to their apex, the closest they'll be for the next year, Cobb is a bit worried that Din might not make it.

But he can't linger on it for long. He eventually gets himself pulled into a few drinks with the miners that he's friendly with, and soon he makes the rounds to greet folks and humour the kids who want to see the Marshal take a shot at some of the games that are there to play. He tosses a few hoops at some sticks. He smashes a hammer on a few nail heads with as few swings as possible.

Later, he does look over at the Tusken encampment. They asked for privacy to conduct their own ceremony and would join once they were done. He catches a glimpse of the central fire they've lit and some movement, but otherwise doesn't intrude.

They will join an hour later, a bit hesitant at first before the kids from both parties pull each other into games—such is the power of youth to forego the burden of history. Cobb reconnects with the warriors from last night, and G'arr'a seems particularly pleased that Cobb survived last night. He pulls him into a game involving a pellet gun and shooting targets at various distances and movement. Eventually, the game becomes a rousing competition, and Cobb is once again able to demonstrate his near perfect precision.

He wins.

And the prize?

A replica of a Marshal's badge, which makes him laugh.

One of the last activities for the night is a play, a simple way of winding down the activities and settling the kids for bed. This year, the town's small acting troupe which consists of five people, are putting on The Moon's Gift, a classic play of a slave falling in love with a farmer but only being able to visit him whenever a full moon is out.

It's a weepy romance that Cobb has seen many times, but he never gets bored of it. He stands at the back of the crowd, the food mostly eaten, the drinks gone, and the games all done. Many of the Tuskens have even stayed to watch in quiet reverence as the young woman playing the slave first meets the moon Ghomrassen. Hearing the slave's plea to be united with her love, Ghomrassen grants her a pair of sandals. So long as her light touches the sand, the slave will be able to leave her master's home and traverse the sand to meet her love. But she must return before suns' up.

The story continues with Guermessa giving her a dress made of moonlight to better disguise her on her journey, allowing her to leave unnoticed and reunite with her lover. Chenini then gives her a silver, fleet-footed father made of moonlight to carry her on her way across the desert if at any chance she does not have her shoes or dress. With these gifts, she is able to meet the farmer, but she must always return to her master at the end of the night.

Then the moons offer the slave a final gift. So long as she adheres to their rules, their stipulations, upon their return the following year, when these three sisters shall meet, they will transform her into a free woman. It is a story full of yearning and passion, and the slave holds on and for her loyalty, she is gifted her freedom at the end of the play.

But Cobb doesn't get to see the end of the play, for he hears a foot set in sand behind him and he turns only to be greeted by Din's familiar shape.

"Hope I'm not too late," he says, and by the moons his voice.

"You're cutting it close," Cobb says as he looks about and decides to lead Din out of sight.

"You don't want to see the end of the play?" Din asks. "It seemed like a good one."

"I've seen it a thousand times."

Once they are out of sight, he wraps himself around Din, feeling the hard planes of his body and breathing in the scent of metal and smoke. "Damn, I missed you."

Din lightly presses his head against Cobb's and returns the embrace. "So . . . about my gift."

Cobb smirks. "This way." He leads him back to his home and they descend with a hurried fervour. Din is already removing his armour as Cobb gets his bed ready. He returns to help Din remove the rest of his armour, taking care to pay it the respect it deserves, but he knows what he's looking for. They both do.

Din sheds his flight suit and then his underclothes. Cobb whistles at the sight of him.

"Yeah, yeah," he says as he positions himself none too gracefully on the bed. Even with the helmet on, it doesn't detract from Din's body. He has never seen so much of him before, and Cobb finds himself feeling greedy. His body is hard yet full. He is broad at his shoulders and thick at at his waist, speaking of being fed well recently. Scars do litter his body, ones that say they've been cauterized, rough at the edges and pockmarked skin paler than the rest of him. On his thighs. His torso. Another at his shoulder, but he is beautiful.

"You seem eager," Cobb says as he takes his clothes off, giving Din a show while he's at it.

Din's cock is already growing plump between his thighs, nestled among dark curls of hair. "I've had someone teasing me from afar. Seems like you got into something." He points to Cobb's new tattoo.

"Ah. That. Had a bit to drink last night with the Tuskens. They wanted to celebrate the krayt and I guess I agreed to something without knowing." Once naked he crawls over the length of the bed and gets up between Din's spread legs so he can angle his tattoo towards him.

"Beautiful," din says. "They must really like you. Is that meant to be us?"

Cobb nods. "One of the chaps called us this." He makes the sign for the blood brother term

Din hums.

"What?" Cobb asks. "Seems like you know what that means."

"I do."

"You ain't gonna tell me?"

"I think you'll figure out the exact meaning eventually. Now, I thought there was a gift here."

Cobb settles back and reaches for the ivory dildo. He holds it up and Din takes it into his hands.

"You work fast," he says.

"I was inspired. Now you want the ol' ivory or the real thing?"

"Can I have both?"

"Of course, you greedy thing." Cobb leans over top of him to press a kiss to his neck and gently encouraging Din to lie back as he peppers kisses across his neck and along his collarbones. "I'll make it worth your while. But first I got to warm you up. Get you ready."

"For that monster cock I bet."

Cobb hums and sets his lips around Din's nipple and swirls his tongue around it. He feels Din's chest expand and contract with a breathy sigh.

He then stretches over for the lube and dildo. Din spreads his legs even more, resting a hand over his head. Cobb spreads a generous amount of lube over top the dildo's head and two of his fingers to tease at Din's hole.

"I feel a bit bad," Din then says as Cobb eases in a slippery finger.

"What for?"

"Not saying hit o everyone when I arrived. When I saw Wandering Bantha was here, I should've tried to come early."

"you can say hi in the morning. I get to have you now."

Call him selfish, but Cobb has been patient enough.

He teases Din only a bit before he presses the dildo to his slick looking hole. Din's body seems greedy for it as his rim stretches around the girth of it, and Din sighs as Cobb presses an inch in. He holds it there, letting Din get used to the feel of it, how solid it is before Cobb presses it in further.

"How does it feel?"

Din hums and shifts his hips. "Smooth."

"Good."

It's a thing of beauty to watch Din's hole flex around Cobb's handiwork and see how it's reflected in the way his cock twitches. With his free hand, he moves to stroke Din's dick, sweeping his thumb over the head and otherwise keeping him steady.

When he's inserted half the dildo, he pulls it out a bit before pushing it back in. He repeats this a few times, all the while with Din's dick in hand.

"Modeled after your own dick," Din says, his voice breathy.

"Mhmm. That way when you're fucking yourself, you'll only think of me because only my cock deserves to be in you." On the next thrust in, he presses it in further, sinking it in until the flared based is up against his ass.

Din moans. "Oh." He shifts but Cobb presses a hand to his hip to steady him.

"Good right?"

"Shit that's deep."

"You ready for me to fuck you?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do that."

"Alright, I'm going to flip you. Hand and knees. Careful. Don't hurt yourself."

Ding gets to his knees, but his shoulders remain planted on the bed. Cobb sits up on his knees and leans over the length of him, kissing his back and letting his duck bump up against Din's ass. Then he grips the dildo by its base and proceeds to fuck it in and out of Din. Slow and methodical. The ivory slides smoothly past his rim. Din's hands flex and grip the bed sheets below him.

Cobb then ever so gently twists his wrists, letting the dildo sink in at a slightly different angle. He reaches between Din's legs for his fat,plump cock, weeping at the tip an dripping onto the sheets.

"Is this for me?" Cobb says and Din groans below him.

He picks up the pace with his thrusting, thrilled with the way this usually stock man can become so vocal

When he removes the dildo fully, he watches Din's hole wink and flex at the sudden emptiness. Din breathes heavily beneath him.

"Thought this was my gift," he says.

"Oh, don't you worry. i got the real thing for you."

Now that Din is properly warmed up, Cobb gets a condom and rolls it onto his dick, lubes himself up. But before he pushes in, he presses on his shoulder, putting him on his back. Din tucks up his legs a bit and reaches out to steady Cobb with rough hands at his waist.

With his cock in hand, Cobb presses the head in and watches himself sink into Din's pliant body. Din's hands run up his torso appreciatively as Cobb sinks in. He rocks slowly into the heat of him, relishing in how easy it is after he fucked Din open with a replica of his own cock. He looked down between them as Din's poor neglected cock twitches at the new intrusion.

Cobb braces himself with a hand by Din's shoulder, the fresh ink pulling his skin as he stretches to get himself the leverage he needs to fuck into Din.

Below him, Din's helmet shines in the full light of the bedroom. Cobb's eyes fall to the visor, to Din's face, and locks eyes as he fucks him and as Din folds his knees even further into his body to take Cobb that bit deeper.

Eventually, Cobb bows his head, focused on the only thing he cares for which is his own pleasure. Din sets a hand on his own dick and strokes himself to a quick and easy completion. He spurts onto his chest, his groans caught in his chest.

As he clenches down around Cobb, Cobb closes his eyes and fucks into him, loose and unsteady as his balls draw up and he cums, his cock pulsing as Cobb internally bemoans the fact that he couldn't fill Din up as he dreamed of. It's too soon, and Cobb is practical enough to know that sleeping with an ass full of cum after a day of travel is exhausting.

He collapses onto Din's chest, his cum cooling between their bodies as Cobb's dick softens within him. Din trails his hands along Cobb's back, along the scars there, his fingers drifting over the bare ports and wires of his reconstructed shoulder. Cobb shivers at the touch.

"Worth the trip?" Cobb asks, his face pressed to Din's collarbone.

"Very," Din says.

Soon, they separate, Cobb removing his cock so they can wash up, using the precious water setting on Cobb's single stall shower. He offers Din a changes of clothes for the night, though his shirts pull tight at the shoulders and the pant legs are a touch too long. Din doesn't seem to care either way.

They retreat to the kitchen for a quick drink, and Din takes the opportunity to press himself to Cobb's back, his helmet just kissing the back of Cobb's head.

Cobb turns against him and hold sup two glasses of some vintage Corellian whisky. "Cheers to a beautiful wet season," he says and Din clinks his glasses against Cobb's and tips up his helmet to drink. Cobb catches a slip of his grizzled chin and swallows it down

They retire to the bed with clean sheets. After Cobb turns off the lights, Din asks quietly, "Will you keep your eyes closed?"

Cobb blinks up into the dark. "Of course." He hears Din remove his helmet and set it on the bedside table. He feels a hand on his face and he parts his lips for what he knows is coming.

Din kisses him in such a painfully yet beautifully chaste way. They kiss a handful of times before Din bullies Cobb onto his side and slide up against his back. His hair brushes against the back of Cobb's neck and he slings an arm over Cobb's waist in a manner that feels all too natural.

He'll take whatever he can have of Din a thousand times over. He'll wait for every cycle of every moon until he can have him again, no matter the cost, no matter the wait.