It could blamed on the day, the entire week, the revelation or something else but for whatever reason, Din is distracted as he comes out of his room, sans armor except for his helmet as he steps into hallway.
Sporting simply his helmet and his suit, not even his cape, makes him look so much smaller for all his lean muscles.
His durasteel cuirass, vambrace, pauldron, cuisse and greaves left behind for some reason, maybe the other is going for a shower, maybe for once he’s letting himself be vulnerable, maybe it needs to be polished and repaired.
Paz doesn’t know.
Doesn’t really care.
It makes what he does next easier as he swipes out of the shadows and catches the smaller man, lifting Din clean off his feet as he traps the other against the wall. But he ensures his arm is between the others back and the wall, his hand cupping Din’s helmet.
He’s not here to harm him but talking with Din isn’t easy on a good day.
Djarin is not having good days lately and Paz is not here for a fight.
Its why his hand shifts the moment he has Din captured, feeling the others legs come up, likely to knock into his stomach as his hands grab onto Paz pauldrons.
But Paz hands closes around the back of the others neck before that, scruffing the other as he gripped.
His breath catches when instantly Din hands fall lax and his feet drop. Din is stupidly strong and its a bit heady to have caught him off guard and capturing him like this despite Paz not angling for a fight.
“Vizla…” Din still manages to growl, despite the scuffing, despite his body going lax and his muscles responding to the release of endorphins the scruffing does. It says something about the trust Din at least has in the pack, brings Paz some relief.
Because Paz admits now what he didn’t want to admit the other day.
He’s worried.
Worried about Djarin, about Din.
He has been for years now, even as a beta, separating from the pack isn’t easy and he knows that bounty hunting work isn’t easy on the heart or the mind.
After this, he knows that the wires of the others head has been crossed.
The fact that the other isn’t fighting him, just dangles between Paz and the wall clues him in too, Din’s toes barely scruffing the floor.
He’s not sure but this close, Din should be able to smell Paz as much as Paz can smell Din and he can’t help but wonder when the last time someone touched the other kindly. It is why Paz eases the his grip lightly, thumbing carefully over where he thinks the scent gland is.
Din lets out a low noise, the vocoder scrambling it so Paz can’t tell if its good or bad, but he continues. “Ni ceta.” He whispers quietly.
He feels more than he sees Din stiffen.
Clearly the other knows for what but not the why.
Paz can’t explain, not really, everything had just boiled over for him.
He was so tired of hiding, so tired of fearing the Empire, even the remains. And Din working with them when Paz was so worried about the other hit all the wrong spots.
Mixed in with his recent rut, Paz will admit that he took it all the wrong way and let his aggression speak where his concern should have.
But Paz has never been a subtle man, it is not his way, not the way of the Vizla.
Loud and proud, that’s the Vizla clan and yet here they are, hiding in a sewer.
But to take it out on a packmate… it was too far.
And even worse, revealing Din to the rest of the pack.
Exposing an omega, when they were so few now, was a thing of shame and had there been any aruetii around to smell him, to know, Paz would have…
Well, he’s grateful there were none.
Just as he’s grateful now as he presses a bit closer to the others neck, the smell coming in from under the helmet.
Omega, still stressed, still sour, but not hurt, the other had put bacta on it.
Good. “Ni ceta.” He simply repeated again, easing his grip slowly so he could set Din on his feet, bending his back to keep his arm between the other and the wall.
Din clung to his cuirass, wobbly footed from the scruffing but not pulling away. “…Ni lini’bar gar baatir.” He finally hissed and yet his body remained pliant, his usually graveled tone slurred.
Paz simply thumbed gently at the hidden gland. ‘Of course you do, even if you won’t admit it. If not mine then someone else, anyone. Child, parent or bondmate.’ He thought sadly. Din’s behavior made so much more sense now. Din was so used to no one worrying or caring properly that he felt wrong footed by it.
Slowly, Paz shifted his head from the others neck to gently clink their foreheads together, hearing Din’s breath hitch. “Ni ceta.” Paz repeated once more, more than willing to grovel for Din’s forgiveness, standing in the hallway with the omega hidden by his own larger bulk.
Translation:
Ni ceta = Formal apology, ‘I kneel’ literally
Ni lini’bar gar baatir = I don’t need your concern. I had to fudge this one a bit, since mando’a doesn’t have a word for ‘don’t. Linibar means need and I put in a ‘ to stimulate the other sentences that had don’t in them.
Sitting down heavily, staring at nothing, Fox mentally reviewed the conversation he just had.
The information Kote had given them.
The fire in his eyes, the promise of violence.
The violence Fox was not going to stop the man from inflicting.
And then he let his own memories rise.
The image of Jedi in the Senate, late at night, startled to see Fox but relaxing when they saw who it was. Always unfailingly polite, sometimes their voice a bit raspy or their position a bit uneasy.
Sometimes limping.
Fox had put it away to them not being familiar with the CG or to war related injuries.
Unbidden, another memory rises.
A commander, young but not extremely so, maybe about twenty three, which made them an older padawan he supposed
Nat born ages were a bit odd to clones. ‘No one under twenty General Skywalker said.’ Kote voice repeats in his head and Fox leans forward, settling his elbows on his desk as he buries his face in his hands.
They had been crying, leaning against the wall, trembling, hand to their mouth. Her braid had been undone, the length a bit odd looking to Fox.
He was used to the braids being at least shoulder length, especially on older padawans.
She had yelped when she heard him, jerking to as if stung only to visibly relax when he saw Fox, saw the armor, recognized him as a clone. Fox hadn’t thought much of it.
It was war after all, though having a break down in the Senate was not good for moral and therefore he had offered her aid.
Offered her his arm and asked if she needed help back to the temple.
She had been… uneasy.
Yes, uneasy, Fox had put it aside as some clone resentment, he knew that even among the Jedi, there were some that were uneasy with them even if most treated them fairly.
But she hadn’t hesitated to take his arm, even as she dried her face with her other hand, so Fox had thought it was just that she wasn’t used to interacting with clones.
The padawan, she had leaned so heavily on him.
It was war he had told himself.
Everyone who fought at the front lines were tired.
Especially commanders that had to make tough choices.
He hadn’t… thought about it.
Until now.
Until he remembered seeing her face again, a week later, on the list of KIA’s.
Her face had stuck with him because of how closely he had interacted with her last, the smiling face so at odds with the crying one Fox had seen. The life in the holo images eyes compared to the broken ones of the eyes that he had escorted to a skycar.
Now all Fox could think about was where he had found her.
Twenty three.
Clones didn’t have that age range, but he knew well enough, from exposure to Coruscant and nat borrns, that life was only just beginning really then. Humans at least were still figuring themselves out at that age, finding their path.
She still had so much left.
But with this, Fox couldn’t help but wonder.
Now that he knew how truly under the thumb of the Senators the Jedi were, he couldn’t help but wonder about her death.
‘…Senator Larona. It was… his office.’ Fox peeked over his hands, brows furrowing slowly as he stared blindly at the wall of his dim office.
Then he stood, picking up his helmet and putting it on, once more becoming ‘just’ another clone in a sea of others, despite the paint on his armor.
Very rarely did the Senators he protected remember to call him by name, didn’t bother to learn it.
It was generally ‘Commander’ or ‘trooper’.
Senators most didn’t care for clones.
Fox tucked his blaster onto his belt and after a moment, a vibroblade.
An eerie sense of calm settled into Fox bones as he made his way out of his office, joined only minutes later by a silent, seething Thorn.
He expected the other to ask questions, expected the other to need comfort. Thorn did neither, simply followed closely, his body trembling ever so slightly and Fox felt his breath catch.
Because Thorn had Jedi friends.
Fox didn’t work with many Jedi at all, didn’t have the time but…
Thorn, Thorn knew Quinlan Vos.
Quinlan Vos, when on Coruscant, was often in the Rotunda.
Vode had thresholds it seemed, limits for how much they were willing to take, if not for themselves, then for others, for each others in particular… or for the ones that served with them.
“Leave no evidence.” Fox simply murmured, breathing out when Thorn nodded once as the two stepped into an elevator.
There be at least one less Senator in the Senate this night if not more.
Oh, it wasn’t obvious, Boba was dealing with the aftermath of an assassination attempt with barked orders and delegating his guards around, the remaining assassin already brought down to the dungeon for proper questioning.
But Din could tell, even with the helmet on and the rest of the armor.
Boba was frustrated.
It was in the short, barked orders, the tone of his voice, the way his glove creaked around the leash in his grasp.
Initially he didn’t get it, followed his buir’ika closely, a bit uncertain. Maybe Boba was upset with him for killing the assassins?
Did he think it made him look weak, to have his ‘slave’ killing those that would come for him. Did Boba think that Din should have just warned it so Boba could take care of it on his own?
But then it hit him, when Boba raised his hand and squeezed his hip for a moment in a proprietary touch.
Boba liked what Din had done.
He found it arousing, watching Din take care of would be killers, dressed in silk and lace, cracking a neck with his bare foot.
He had liked watching Din behave practically feral and maybe he liked it just as much when Din instantly submitted to him after. The way Din had slid his leash back into the others hand, stepped down when Boba told him to.
At the very least, Boba had liked him killing in silk and lace.
If Din’s other suspicions were right, he’d find out later but for now… he abused the knowledge he had gained.
He rubbed lightly up against Boba, brushed his fingertips where he knew the kute and armor didn’t cover, little neck touches or low on the waist. Or teasing at where the kute was, knowing the muscles would feel him rubbing.
Riling the other up even more, frustrating Boba as he was busy working and therefore couldn’t touch Din right now.
He was riling his buir’ika on purpose now, excitement coiling low in his stomach.
Boba always took care of him, was nice or stern depending on what Din needed.
In the beginning, he had needed both the stick and the carrot as Boba had said, a mix of punishment and reward, Din’s heart broken in so many ways.
He knew that he’d see Grogu again, but to be separated from his child, despite the updates Luke Skywalker sent to his comms…
It wasn’t the same.
His heart was bleeding without his child and he had needed Boba, needed to not think.
And Boba had given him it, in spades, first by giving Din missions on Tatooine, keeping the beroya and the hunter in Din alive and later on with his hands warm and rough and then soft and caring between it all.
The look of absolute fury on Boba’s face when Din had cauterized a thigh wound was something Din would never forget, but it was the disappointment that had hurt more. Boba had dealt with him after, once his thigh wound was properly healed.
Din would rather not be pulled over Boba’s lap again, his ass had burned and not in the pleasurable way but at least he had learned that spanking wasn’t his thing and Boba had learned that Din knew when to use his safe words.
Green, yellow and red were very useful.
The bacta on his ass afterward too, Boba’s dom drop easing out as Din cuddled in after his ass was cooling down. Both speculated that Din, due to his years in armor, was oversensitive and maybe, maybe in a few years, he could handle spanking, but that was not now.
But there were other ‘punishments’ that Din enjoyed and it was clear that Boba was getting closer and closer to snapping.
And he did when Din let his hand run along the others thigh, inching towards the inside only for his hand to be grabbed, beskar chain and leather glove pressing into the back of his hand. Before he could complain, Boba reached up his other hand and wrapped it around the back of Din’s neck.
It was heavy, restraining and Boba pressed his thumb against the side of Din’s neck, lightly cutting of the flow of blood.
It made Din slightly lightheaded. “Everyone, clear out. We’re done for the day.” Boba growled out, moving towards the dais before anyone had taken a step, stepping behind the throne and towards their room.
Boba had clearly had enough of Din being bratty.
“Bratty Princess,” He hissed softly as they entered, unhooking the beskar leash to throw it onto a chair, pushing Din further towards their large bed. “I was going to reward you, being such a beautiful little hunter, but you had to be a little brat, didn’t you.” He seethed but when his helmet came off, Din could see the amusement and excitement in the others amber eyes.
Boba had liked this too, Din acting out, being clingy and touchy, it had turned his steady buir’ika into something much darker and needier too.
“Buir’ika.” He whined, only to shut up when Boba lifted a hand.
“Undress, now.” Boba sternly ordered, his eyes flickering over the blood staining Din’s outfit.
Fair enough, blood in their bed wasn’t fun, but Din still whined and squirmed petulantly, wanting to be a problem for some reason until Boba reached out and caught his chin in a hard grip, leather glove rubbing abrasively. “Princess, you’re already getting a punishment, don’t push me into taking away your orgasm too.” He hissed, eyes narrowed as he peered up at Din.
Whelp, that got Din moving, chucking his babydoll and stockings, shivering happily when he heard Boba laugh darkly at the speed he was removing his clothes.
Standing on one foot, rolling the second stocking down, Din did not expect it when Boba suddenly pushed at his shoulder, yelping and pinwheeling as he fell back on the bed with a cry before whining loudly when Boba grabbed his leg and ripped the stocking off, throwing it over his shoulder.
Boba paused then, eyeing Din as he pressed a kiss to the younger man’s knee. “Color sweetheart.” He whispered.
“Green.” Din whimpered with need, shuddering and yelping with surprise when he got a predatory smirk before Boba bit hard at the inside of his thigh, intent to leave behind marks others would see and know.
The intent and sensation, hurting initially and then trailing off to a throb that fit with the beat of his heart had Din whimpering, grabbing at the sheets to hold onto something, anything. Manda, how he love Boba!
“Oh Princess, I’m going to mess you up.” Boba promised quietly against the reddening skin, chuckling darkly once more when all that promise got him was a loud, eager keen with Din arching his neck, legs spread with Boba holding one of them up.
It showed of his captured cock, hard and with a growing wet spot inside its confine of fabric, Din’s captured leg trembling like an eager fathier.
Willing and ready for everything Boba would do to him.
The enemy is in front of him, panting, growling as he leads the Jedi on and Obi-Wan knows.
He knows that the Sith is leading him, trying to get Obi-Wan where he wants him. But still he follows, he has no other choice.
The challenge has been issued, his blood is pumping as instincts tells him to maul and maim his challenger. The part of him that holds onto his humanity and sanity recognizes that the Sith would never just yield to him but the wolf snarls in outrage and once more the two wolves clashes together.
Under the scent of blood, he can smell Qui-Gon.
His master is still following, but not interfering, staying further behind the two wolves.
Thank kark, because Obi-Wan isn’t sure what would happen if the man tried.
He can’t promise that he himself wouldn’t attack his master at this point, not with the mindset of the wolf so prominent, the instincts spurring him on as he goes for the throat of the Sith once more.
If he can just make the Sith yield, then it be over, he could get this done.
But the Sith is as strong, if not stronger than Obi-Wan and its clear he’s trained in this form as much as his zabrak form. Because the black wolf can use the Force, something Obi-Wan still struggles with.
His focus will shift in this form, scents and impressions distracting him even if its razor thin focused in this moment, his enemy too demanding for his instincts to shift anywhere else.
The Sith avoids the lunge and whimper forces itself out of Obi-Wan throat as instead the other sinks his teeth into Obi-Wan’s flank, pushing him back with Obi-Wan’s hind left paw scrambling off the side of the bridge.
He can hear Qui-Gon give a small cry of worry as Obi-Wan slips but the attack on his flank has left the Sith’s bare too and Obi-Wan lounges back, sinking his own further down into the others hind leg.
The pain forces the other to let go, howling with pain as Obi-Wan bounces back, snarling at the other.
The bite of the other is far enough up that Obi-Wan gait is not effected, or the adrenaline and rushing blood covers it.
But Obi-Wan’s bite to the others hind leg is far enough down that the Sith is now limping.
Limping and snarling, eyes wild as he limps backward before turning tail and rushing towards a flickering hall of ray shields, Obi-Wan on his tail with Qui-Gon behind him again. They must make quite the sight, two draft sized wolves and a large human chasing each other.
But there are no one to watch, the battles are going on elsewhere.
Thank the Force.
After exposing himself, Obi-Wan had smelled the fear of the Nabooan and he’d rather not have to deal with them, knew already that if he survived this battle, he’d leave it all to his master.
He’d stay out of sight with his pup.
But first he had to survive.
Instincts yelled at him and Obi-Wan skidded to a stop, only just in time as the ray shield in front of him came up, separating him from the other wolf and he almost backed into the one behind it when it came up.
Qui-Gon, caught on the far side of the shields, stared at him with worry before looking beyond him at the Sith, forcing Obi-Wan’s attention back on his enemy.
The Sith was nursing his wound, eyes trained on Obi-Wan while licking at his hind leg, growling faintly at the trapped Jedi.
Well, it was a moment to breath at least.
Panting, Obi-Wan kept standing, knowing his muscles would start cooling down if he sat down on his hind, mentally counting as he focused on his enemy.
This little pause could be a great help or a great hinder, depending on if his enemy was like Obi-Wan, if this little break would give in on the battle adrenaline roaring in the Sith.
Obi-Wan could hope, quivering, ready to pounce as poisonous yellow meet his own eyes, both waiting for the same moment.
The rey shield fell and two great beast attacked each other once more.
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