For someone who was a Commander in the New Republic and therefore always on duty, it shouldn't have been surprising that, even at this late hour, Ward was sitting at a table in the canteen, a mug next to a couple of pads as she tapped at another pad with her stylus.
Din walked over, surprisingly quiet in his armour, and stood in front of her. "You're up late," he said, not quite making conversation, and, yet, not able to think of anything else to do at this hour.
She looked up from the pad and smiled tiredly. "No rest for the wicked," she said wryly, even as she set it down. "What about you? Don't you ever sleep?" She gestured towards the chair opposite.
"When I need to." He sat down, facing her. "Grogu's sleeping, and it's easier to keep him asleep if I'm not making noise on the ship."
Her smile stayed, growing a bit wryer. "The perils of parenthood," she drawled. She paused, then chuckled softly. "I hear about it during every meeting — another member of the Rebellion is settling down, having a kid, stepping away from the mission..."
"You never...?"
She sat back in her chair. "When I could, I had 20 new recruits every other week who needed their noses wiped and told which way to wear their helmets. Now..." She gestured vaguely. "Procreation doesn't seem that big of a deal."
They sat in silence for a few seconds, then she made a scoffing sound. "I think the Mandalorians have the right idea. Don't bother having your own, just pick one up along the way..." She looked him up and down speculatively. "I suppose trying to have sex in all that armour makes it..." she paused and looked directly at his helmet. "Difficult."
Din shifted slightly in his chair. "I..." He quickly looked around, checking that they were alone.
She leaned forward slightly, eyes suddenly sharp and bright. "Tell me, Mandalorian, do you take off the armour when you're fucking?"
He took in a deep breath, glanced down for a second, then looked back up, his face level with hers, secure behind the gleam of beskar. "No."
She tilted her head, her smile matching the sharpness of her eyes. "Sounds like quite the challenge." She stood up, turning away from the table, and began walking towards the hallway.
After a few metres, she stopped and turned back to him. "Well?" she said, eyebrow raised.
He looked back at her. "You're certain?"
She scoffed again. "I've never been one to refuse a challenge."
Her quarters were small, but meticulous, everything perfectly stored away. The door closed behind them and she quickly pulled off her jacket and top, letting them fall to the floor before kicking off her boots and pushing down her trousers. She stepped out of them and stood in the middle of her quarters, completely nude.
She was trim, a bit of softness in her hips and breasts, the smallest paunch over greying hair. She stood there, hands on her hips, and looked up at him. "I'm not going to ask you to strip," she said, looking over his body, "but don't put your weapons near anything sensitive and no boots on the bed."
He nodded, and reached up for the clasp of his cape, pulling it off in a smooth motion. He carefully folded it, setting it on the lone chair, then slowly unfastened and removed every weapon on his armour. The vambraces. The blaster. The grenades. The knives.
She watched him remove everything, and walked towards the bed, her eyes never leaving his body. "You must feel completely defenceless" she said, sitting on the bed, legs bent over the edge. "Utterly exposed." She spread her legs, exposing herself to him.
"Who's exposed now?" he said, his face never leaving her body.
She smirked, reaching to the shelf next to her bed for a small bottle. "I have been wondering," she said, almost scientifically, as she flipped the cap and spread a clear viscous liquid over her fingers. "...if beskar stays cold to the touch or if it heats up when next to..." She moved her fingers down between her legs, gently sliding the liquid over her folds. "...skin." Her hand slid across herself, reaching down to slip a finger in.
He held up a hand, showing the exposed fingers in their gauntlets. "My fingers aren't armoured," he said.
"I wasn't thinking of your fingers," she said. Her voice caught, just a little, as she stroked herself in front of him. She shuddered, then moved her hand away, almost regretfully. "Put your head between my legs," she commanded. "I want to feel it against me."
He knelt before her, hands sliding against her thighs even as he lowered his head, the cool beskar of his forehead resting against her.
She groaned in appreciation as she began to rock against it, the muscles in her thighs twitching under his fingers, pulse racing against his. The scent of her was powerful, heady, even over the strange non-scent of the liquid she was using. He kept his head down, not moving, all of his focus on the feeling of her soft thighs, the rapid shallow breaths, the slick sliding sound as she continued to move.
He slid one hand up higher, moving into the small space between his helmet and her body, a single finger tracing around her as she moved.
"Yes, yes," she whispered, muffled, as if she were biting down on a knuckle. It only took the slightest movement, and he was in her, finger staying still, letting her body slide it in and out.
It didn't take long after that, her thrusts becoming more frenetic, her body growing tighter around his finger, until, finally, she gasped, shuddering against him, squeezing tightly around him, a low groan escaping her throat.
She fell back against the bed and he stood, helmet smeared, fingers damped, and she looked up at him with hooded eyes. He unclapsed the fastenings on his trousers, pulling his painfully hard cock out and began stroking, fingers covered in liquid and her scent, body rigid with tension, and it was all over quickly, spattering her belly and thighs as he groaned softly.
He dropped back down to his knees, gasping, body still trembling. He looked up, face directly in front of her — pink, tender, wet, with a single streak of white dripping down from her thigh.
She laughed, satisfied, and he heard her reaching for something on the shelf. A cloth landed on his helmet, covering his vision.
"Clean yourself up," she said, even as she shifted back on the bed, moving away from him. "Can't go out in public looking like that."
He began cleaning his helmet even as she started wiping herself down. After a few minutes, he stood, walking over to the chair.
She lounged on the bed, propped up on her elbows, legs now not fully closed, but close together. She watched him as he put his weapons back on, a satisfied smile on her face.
He clasped his cape and was about to walk towards the door when she spoke again. "Thank you," she said.
He turned back to her. "Thank you."
This Star Wars story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at http://www.dymphna.net/fanfic/. And you can feedback her at dymphna@dymphna.net.