fic: buffing beskar
30 August 2021 05:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wrennettebuffing beskar (689 words) by wrennette
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett, pre Boba Fett/Din Djarin
Characters: Boba Fett, Din Djarin
Additional Tags: post Tython, Pre Finale, armour, Pre-Relationship, Testing the Waters, Blanket Permission, DON'T COPY OR REPOST TO ANOTHER SITE, Present Tense
Series: Part 2 of bobadin week 2021
Summary:
All is quiet in the cramped cargo area, the soft susurrus of carborundum grit rubbed over metal plate, the slight creak of weight shifting. Din sits unobtrusively in the corner, watching as Boba slowly, meditatively buffs away at chipped paint. Beneath the faded green is an equally chipped layer of pale primer, and once that is wiped off, the metal glints in the dim light.
Din feels a bit like a voyeur, watching Boba clean away the years of damage to his armour. Now that Din's seen Boba's fighting experience while wearing the armour, there can be no question that it's actually his. Every Mandalorian tweaked and fitted their armour differently, no two sets identical. And now that Din's seen Boba in armour, seeing him without feels almost uncomfortably intimate.
Boba lifts the section of plate he's been scouring, tilting it this way and that to ensure that he hasn't missed any spots. He rubs over the surface with a soft rag, as gentle as if he were cleaning a child's face.
"It was my father's armour," Boba says quietly. Din doesn't reply. Boba had said this before, showed Din the chaincode embedded in the armour. "And his father's before that." For a moment, Boba is silent, picking up another plate and shaking out carborundum on it, beginning to buff down the paint. "They both died wearing this armour."
Silence settles between them, and stretches out. It isn't heavy - Din feels like he could talk, if he had anything to say.
"For a long time, I thought I'd die wearing it too," Boba says, his voice small. He rubs away the carborundum and paint, sweeping it into the recycler. The plate clicks quietly against the surface of Boba's work table, and he reaches up, pulls down a bottle of solvent and a clean rag.
"You take good care of it," Din finally says, watching the gentle care Boba takes as he wipes solvent over each of the plates, to prevent the oils from his skin from sinking into the metal.
Boba shakes his head. "I didn't," he admits. "Not like I should. Some of these chips were already there when I went into the sarlacc. I took pride in how battered it was - thought that was a testament to what I'd survived. Thought that made me look tough. But I didn't take care of it, not properly. And then - it couldn't take care of me." He raises his head slightly, dark eyes pinning Din.
Din swallows, fighting the urge to lower his eyes. He's still not used to the way Boba can unerringly meet his eyes through the visor. For all that Boba's the one vulnerable, unarmoured, Din feels like he's flayed open by that look, utterly unprotected.
"That isn't your first suit," Boba says, nodding at Din.
Din dips his head, curious how Boba could tell. He tilts his chin slightly, in silent question. Boba's cheek twitches minutely, and Din realizes that was a smile - brief, but there.
"You walk like you expect it to hang different on your body. The plates still chime, even when you're trying to be sneaky," Boba says, and Din blinks behind his visor, then nods. Boba smiles again, and this time it lasts longer, toothy and a bit feral. "We should spar sometime, see if that'll help."
In the covert, an invitation to spar could mean anything from two friends wanting to test their skills to two rivals wanting to settle differences. Sometimes it was the first invitation to deepen a relationship into something more permanent. Din can't help but wonder what it means to someone like Boba, who disavowed being Mandalorian at all, but clearly treasures the customs and practices common among their people.
"I'd like that," Din says, because he would. Even if their partnership ends when Din retrieves Grogu, it would be wise to be familiar with Boba's fighting ability. "Been a while since I bumped beskar with anyone," he says, probing. It could mean a fight. It could also mean a fuck. From the way Boba smiles and tilts up his head, he's ready and willing for either.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Din Djarin & Boba Fett, pre Boba Fett/Din Djarin
Characters: Boba Fett, Din Djarin
Additional Tags: post Tython, Pre Finale, armour, Pre-Relationship, Testing the Waters, Blanket Permission, DON'T COPY OR REPOST TO ANOTHER SITE, Present Tense
Series: Part 2 of bobadin week 2021
Summary:
now that Din's seen Boba in armour, seeing him without feels almost uncomfortably intimate.
All is quiet in the cramped cargo area, the soft susurrus of carborundum grit rubbed over metal plate, the slight creak of weight shifting. Din sits unobtrusively in the corner, watching as Boba slowly, meditatively buffs away at chipped paint. Beneath the faded green is an equally chipped layer of pale primer, and once that is wiped off, the metal glints in the dim light.
Din feels a bit like a voyeur, watching Boba clean away the years of damage to his armour. Now that Din's seen Boba's fighting experience while wearing the armour, there can be no question that it's actually his. Every Mandalorian tweaked and fitted their armour differently, no two sets identical. And now that Din's seen Boba in armour, seeing him without feels almost uncomfortably intimate.
Boba lifts the section of plate he's been scouring, tilting it this way and that to ensure that he hasn't missed any spots. He rubs over the surface with a soft rag, as gentle as if he were cleaning a child's face.
"It was my father's armour," Boba says quietly. Din doesn't reply. Boba had said this before, showed Din the chaincode embedded in the armour. "And his father's before that." For a moment, Boba is silent, picking up another plate and shaking out carborundum on it, beginning to buff down the paint. "They both died wearing this armour."
Silence settles between them, and stretches out. It isn't heavy - Din feels like he could talk, if he had anything to say.
"For a long time, I thought I'd die wearing it too," Boba says, his voice small. He rubs away the carborundum and paint, sweeping it into the recycler. The plate clicks quietly against the surface of Boba's work table, and he reaches up, pulls down a bottle of solvent and a clean rag.
"You take good care of it," Din finally says, watching the gentle care Boba takes as he wipes solvent over each of the plates, to prevent the oils from his skin from sinking into the metal.
Boba shakes his head. "I didn't," he admits. "Not like I should. Some of these chips were already there when I went into the sarlacc. I took pride in how battered it was - thought that was a testament to what I'd survived. Thought that made me look tough. But I didn't take care of it, not properly. And then - it couldn't take care of me." He raises his head slightly, dark eyes pinning Din.
Din swallows, fighting the urge to lower his eyes. He's still not used to the way Boba can unerringly meet his eyes through the visor. For all that Boba's the one vulnerable, unarmoured, Din feels like he's flayed open by that look, utterly unprotected.
"That isn't your first suit," Boba says, nodding at Din.
Din dips his head, curious how Boba could tell. He tilts his chin slightly, in silent question. Boba's cheek twitches minutely, and Din realizes that was a smile - brief, but there.
"You walk like you expect it to hang different on your body. The plates still chime, even when you're trying to be sneaky," Boba says, and Din blinks behind his visor, then nods. Boba smiles again, and this time it lasts longer, toothy and a bit feral. "We should spar sometime, see if that'll help."
In the covert, an invitation to spar could mean anything from two friends wanting to test their skills to two rivals wanting to settle differences. Sometimes it was the first invitation to deepen a relationship into something more permanent. Din can't help but wonder what it means to someone like Boba, who disavowed being Mandalorian at all, but clearly treasures the customs and practices common among their people.
"I'd like that," Din says, because he would. Even if their partnership ends when Din retrieves Grogu, it would be wise to be familiar with Boba's fighting ability. "Been a while since I bumped beskar with anyone," he says, probing. It could mean a fight. It could also mean a fuck. From the way Boba smiles and tilts up his head, he's ready and willing for either.
