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Din’s favorite part of the morning were the few moments after he’d woken up, but before the dread set in.
Unfortunately, today, the dread had descended the moment his alarm went off.
He rolled over, turning it off quickly, hoping it didn’t wake up Luke. His husband seemed to have gotten used to it in the last few months, and rarely stirred at the sound of it anymore. Din leaned over, kissed Luke’s forehead quickly, before tumbling out of bed towards the bathroom.
The first Mandalorian Senatorial election was underway, and it was taking up more of Din’s time and energy than damn-near anything else he’d ever done.
They had two senators to elect, from a wide pool of candidates, as well as a number of other bureaucratic roles to fill. The people would vote for their representatives, but figuring out how to set up those systems, encourage voting, and figuring out which candidates to endorse was more bureaucracy than Din bargained for when he’d decided to kill Moff Gideon with a laser sword three years ago.
Din rested his head on the cool tile of the shower. He’d gone to bed at two, and now it was barely six. He wasn’t alone in his suffering. His entire council would be tired and irritable today. He doubted any of them would be happy to see Luke’s well-rested face later in the day. He left them to the on-world troubles in the morning, but joined them after lunch to help them sort through the nuances and customs of the Republic systems.
Luke was helpful, and he’d stayed awake with them until two in the morning, but he had nowhere to be for another few hours, and so, he slept as Din strapped on his armor, weapons, and Darksaber, and headed downstairs (after quickly offering Grogu his good morning hug).
He was the first one downstairs. He was glad to see that no one else had made it to breakfast yet. He’d never liked arriving late after a long night, rejecting any idea that he deserves special treatment because he was the Mand’alor. Besides, the caf was guaranteed to be hot, fresh, and in huge supply.
The rest of his council filed in slowly. Only the Armorer managed to not look slumped, but at this point in his life, Din had come to assume she was some non-human creature that didn’t need to sleep or eat.
“[So the Prince gets to sleep in, then?]” Boba asked when he saw Din at the table.
Luke had explained to Din that when Boba said “ alor’riduur, ” what he meant in Basic was “princess,” not “prince,” the title Luke typically used. Din knew enough about Basic, and remembered enough of his childhood to grasp the idea of a gendered language. But the idea that Boba would call Luke a princess, particularly as an insult, continued to confuse him.
“[But you are…] a prince?” Din had asked when Luke tried to explain it. Luke smiled the way he always did whenever Din tried to speak Basic.
“[Yes, but it is disrespect,]” Luke explained with his limited vocabulary.
Din tilted his head. “[On Naboo, you love and respect your] queen, a woman.”
“Yes,” Luke said. “[He does insult to me, because also I am] a man, a prince, not ‘princess.’” Din didn’t correct his stumbles through the language, catching Luke’s meaning well enough.
“[But why does he call you] Princess?” Din asked, still confused by Boba’s choice of insult.
Luke sighed deeply, and Din figured it was more complicated than their limited language could convey. He would ask the Armorer at a later time for more help.
“[I am … pretty?]” was the best Luke was able to offer. Pretty, mesh’ika, little beauty.
“Not mesh’ika, [not little, just] mesh’la, riduur,” Din said.
Still, he understood that Luke disliked the title, even if he didn’t quite understand why, or why Boba would even use it as an insult. Even in their Mando’a conversations, Din had taken to using Luke’s Basic title, to remind Boba which title Luke preferred.
“The Prince,” he started, pointedly, “[has other business in the morning, like he usually does.]” Boba didn’t say anything; he just sat down and poured a cup of caf.
The conversation proceeded slowly as they all woke up. Things only halted after an hour, when Din stood and stretched his arms over his head, trying to get rid of the soreness in his back that had settled after so many days hunched over datapads.
His counselors were staring at him. At his hips more precisely. Din looked down, confused and worried that something was hanging out.
“Mand’alor,” Bo Katan said slowly. “[Where is the Darksaber?]”
Din looked at his belt where the thing usually hung. Instead of the jet-black Beskar handle, he saw a familiar durasteel silver and copper weapon. He unhooked it and held it up to ignite the green blade.
“[Is this not it?]” He asked, deadpanned. No one laughed. “[I will go get it.]”
“[If he goes upstairs, the little witch will keep him from us for hours,]” Paz protested, as if Din wasn’t there. Luke had been on the planet for four months, and Boba and Paz still couldn’t seem to get his name right.
“[My husband and I can control ourselves,]” he assured them as he headed out of the room.
~
Din opened the door to their room quietly, in case Luke was still asleep. He was almost grateful to find him awake, knowing it would have been nearly impossible to resist getting back into bed if saw Luke still comfortably under the sheets.
Luke was in his bathrobe, hair wet from the shower. “[Sweetheart!]” He said, smiling, dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. “[What --]”
Din held up Luke’s lightsaber. Luke looked confused until he glanced back at the weapons rack, and saw that the Darksaber hadn’t been moved since last night.
Luke walked over to it, picked it up, and ignited it. There was a teasing, boyish look in his eyes as he spun the blade and took his usual fighting stance.
“[You will have to fight me for it.]”
Din stared at the blade in Luke’s hand; he’d gripped the handle tight, but a curious thumb ran up and down over the ridges. Luke titled his head to the side and smirked as if to ask, are you going to defend your title, Mand’alor?
Din smiled, although Luke couldn’t see it from behind the helmet. He ignited Luke’s saber, taking a moment to stare at it. It was younger than the Darksaber, thinner, and lighter in his hand. It wasn’t his own, but still, it felt good to hold, touch, and use. He spun it in his hand to get a sense of the balance, before gripping it tight in both hands.
Din stepped towards him, and their blades met in front of their faces, creating an X of green and black.
Neither of them were putting much strength into the fight, that was obvious. But still, they stepped through the motions, striking and blocking each other in familiar patterns. They had started sparing one another for fun and practice, and so each step and swing felt familiar. They each parried a few striked, subconsciously trying to avoid any furniture or limbs.
It was, by no means, a thrilling fight in a conventional way. But seeing Luke wield Din’s weapon, hold so much power in his hands, and handle it with such mastery and care … Din’s blood felt hot, his face flushed from something other than the movement. Luke licked his lips, and Din wondered if he felt the same thing, or just sensed Din’s emotions.
Their blades met again, holding them in a moment of stillness. Luke wasn’t sweating or struggling, but still he said, “[I cower, you win, Mand’alor.]” He handed Din the Darksaber, and then untied his robe, letting it drop to the floor.
Din tossed the blades on the bedside table without care, lifted his helmet off, and let Luke drag him towards the bed, utterly unable to keep his hands off him for a moment longer.
~
Din wandered back to the meeting room twenty minutes later, Darksaber in hand this time. He tried his best to act casual, act as if he hadn’t traded one Skywalker saber for another, and made enough of a mess that his husband had to return to the shower. He stared at the Darksaber and tried not to think about the way it looked in Luke’s hand, or the way Luke had encouraged him to fight for it. But it was all he could think about. He’d only gotten off minutes ago, and already, if he thought about it too long he could feel himself stirring at the memory.
They hadn’t had time for penetration one way or the other, but they had jerked each other off, rolling around in the unmade bed as if they were still fighting, only declaring it a draw after they both contributed to utterly ruining that pair of Din’s gloves.
“[They all predicted you would seduce me,]” Din teased in the afterglow.
“[Jedi magic is powerful,]” Luke confirmed.
Din cupped Luke’s still-sensitive cock, getting him to gasp and arch his back one last time for him, before agreeing, “[Yes it is.]”
When Din opened the doors finally, everyone stared as if they could see right through him.
“[Mand’alor, your room is not twenty minutes away,]” Bo-Katan reminded him.
“[My apologies. I had to duel him for it.]” He held up the Darksaber. “[I won.]”
“[Is the] alor-ika [dead then?]” Paz asked. Alor-ika was the title offered to children of the Mand’alor. Din grimaced behind his helmet at whatever implication Paz was making.
“[Grogu is alive. As is the prince. But it was a close match. You all nearly had a new Mand’alor,]” Din said, sitting back down to look over the notes of what he missed.
“[This,]” Boba said, pointing a finger at Bo-Katan, “[is your fault.]”
“[I can find you a handsome husband too, if you’d like,]” Bo-Katan offered, with no real seriousness in her voice. “[Might make you happier.]”
~
Boba had ultimately denied the offer, but not before suggesting Bo-Katan find herself a riduur (“[You might finally relax if it started taking you twenty minutes to fetch a weapon.]”)
When Luke joined them after lunch, Din had only been able to briefly warn him there may be unkind comments about their duel that morning.
“[Don’t worry, Mand’alor,]” Luke said. Din’s title had started to sound less formal and more flirtatious in his mouth, “[I can behave myself.]” He decided to punctuate his point with a swift pinch to Din’s ass, before standing up tall, looking serious, and heading in.
As Din watched Luke walk in, confident and ready to help his planet, he realized that whatever dread he’d felt that morning had long since melted away.