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Of all the reasons for Din to call him at what he knows is some ungodly hour on Mandalore, Luke doesn’t expect him to ask: “Luke. Can you read my mind?”

Still, his answer is immediate. “Yes.” And then, his lips curving into a smile— “If you want me to lie about it, I mean.”

“…no.” He can imagine the slump of Din’s shoulders when he sighs, the sound clear even through the double layers of Din’s vocoder and communicator. “That would defeat the point.”



Luke’s smile turns into a grin. “So what is the point?”

Din is silent for many moments after that, but Luke knows better than to think he’s disconnected. Keeping his comms unit close with the Force, his hands busy themselves with preparing leaves for the younglings’ morning tea. The sky might still be dark and starry on the planet Din has to reclaim, but it’s just after sunrise on Yavin IV, and Luke has a little over an hour left before the little ones have to wake for meditation.

In the dead silence of the temple, Din’s intake of breath is a sharp sound. He surprises Luke a second time when he says, voice deep and just this side of rough, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The way his hands freeze in the middle of putting the kettle to boil isn’t something Luke’s proud of, but the heat that prickles the back of his neck is unmistakable. He switches priorities; the comms unit is held in his hand, and in his mind he searches for the things he needs for tea, putting the routine into kinetic thought.

Luke’s steps aren’t hurried when he starts walking, but the thought of anyone catching him talking to Din about this tells him he has to leave the kitchen sooner rather than later. “Yeah?” he asks as he moves, tongue wetting his lips. It isn’t a graceful question in the least, but he wants Din to keep talking. Wants him to know he hears him loud and clear.

And Din does. “Yeah.” The sigh he lets out this time is wistful. “I can’t sleep.”

“Because you’re thinking of me?” Luke’s stomach flutters.

“Because I miss you.”

That’s when Luke’s cheeks flush for an entirely different reason, and for a moment he wonders if he’s miscalculated. Din might only be talking about sentiment and nothing more, after all, and maybe he won’t need his hands free—

“I want to touch you,” Din mumbles, sounding almost burdened by it, “so badly.”

So Luke enters his quarters, relieved to see Artoo still powered down and charging.

“Is that why you want me to read your mind?” he teases, sitting at the edge of his bed. “Oh, but I—” He laughs suddenly, remembering. “I miss you too, Din.” Which he’s sure the man knows, but Luke likes to remind him of these things whenever he can. It’s certainly worth it, considering the way Din chuckles on the other end of the line.

Just imagining the tilt of his helm and the movement of his shoulders makes Luke’s heart hammer in his chest. Restless, and suddenly understanding Din’s dilemma so clearly it’s embarrassing, Luke cards his fingers through his hair. For all that Din likes to remind him of how incredible and unreal he is, Luke wonders if Din knows he could bring him to his knees with his laugh alone.

By the time Din speaks again, his tone is soft enough Luke feels it in his heart like a caress. “I wish you could see what I want to do to you, cyar’ika.”

Force. “I could,” Luke says, “if you described it.”

“I’m… not good with words.”

“I’m sure you’re better than you think.” Indulgently, his back colliding gently with the mattress, Luke’s flesh hand rubs the ends of his index and middle along his own jaw, and he shuts his eyes as he imagines Din’s lips instead. Din’s stubble. Din’s warmth.

Luke places his comms unit down on the mattress beside him. For a moment, all he hears is Din’s breathing. For a moment, all he does is sync his own to it, the action so intimate it’s as if Din were right there with him.

Then Din breaks the silence with, “I want to lay you down.”

Oh. Yes.

“Mm.” Luke’s glad he’s already there, and he toes his boots off as his hand drifts to flutter over his throat. “I’d like that. A lot.” Din doesn’t respond right away after, so Luke prompts, “What else do you want, darling?”

The pet name makes Din laugh, as it always does, but the breathlessness to it is a sweet stab to Luke’s gut. “I want…” There’s another mite of silence, and Luke imagines Din’s had to swallow in thought. “I want you to take my helmet off.”

It’s hard not to smile at how Din thinks things that’re second nature by now are still things he has to ask for. “Yes,” Luke agrees eagerly nevertheless, thinking of Din’s hair matted against his forehead and how charming he looks with that adorably uneven cut.

“But let me kiss it first,” he adds cheerfully.

Din’s inhale is sharp. “Luke.”

“Your beskar keeps you safe,” Luke explains, grinning. “I owe that bucket a lot, you know.”

“Yet you call it a bucket.”

“It is what it is.”

Din sighs, but there’s enough of a laugh towards the end that tells Luke he isn’t in any trouble.

“Would you kiss me?” Luke asks, biting his lip when he does. “When I take your helmet off?”

“If you’re good,” Din says unconvincingly. “If you say ‘please’.”

Parting his lips, imagining Din’s tongue, and Din’s hands, and Din hovering above him, Luke whispers a single, “Please.”

Din mutters some swear in Mando’a, and Luke smiles.

“Yes.” Luke’s fingers brush over his own mouth as Din speaks into the receiver. “Yes. Gods. I want to kiss you.” Luke’s thighs press together, the weight of Din’s want in words making him shiver. The tip of his tongue brushes the pad of his middle finger before he takes it into his mouth, sucking, imagining. “I want to kiss you and tear your shirt open.”

Unbidden, with the water now boiling in the kitchen, Luke uses the Force to demonstrate Din’s thoughts, imagining the way his hands would rip at the fastenings to his clothing. He’s done it before, Luke remembers—some rushed, quick thing that’d ended with Luke’s palms against the wall and Din’s fingers turned into bruises on his hips. It’d been thrilling then to be wanted as badly as Din wanted him. It’s thrilling now to imagine Din’s impatience, to think about how thin his resolve’s become just because Luke had the decency to ask nicely.

The succeeding tugs of his buttons come louder than he thought they would. Luke would be more embarrassed if the whisper of cool air against his chest didn’t make his nipples so hard.

“Did you just—with your powers—” Din’s tone has turned surprised, suddenly, and it occurs to Luke that perhaps he’d heard him. “Your shirt—”

“Yes,” Luke answers without delay, lips moving against his own finger. “I imagined you doing it…”

Din groans, and Luke loves the defeat in it. “Fuck.”

And, just to drive the point home, Luke murmurs, “Yeah, Din. I want you to.”

“I gotta—” The snapping sound of Din’s suspenders coming undone makes Luke feel weak and giddy all at once, and he tries to imagine him as he would be now: helmeted, of course, if the vocoder’s any indication, and maybe in his tent at a campsite. He thinks of Din on his bedroll, of his silhouette in the darkness. He thinks of Din’s hand undoing his own trousers, thinks of his palm running along his cock over his basics, and with that delirious thought in mind Luke undoes his own.

“Din,” he murmurs, slipping his hand into his underwear and shivering, “I’m going to touch myself.”

Din’s own voice is half-strangled. “Me too.”

Oh,” Luke sighs, laughing as he gives a few, lazy tugs to his length, alternating between the thought of Din on top of him and the thought of Din jerking off thousands of parsecs away. He lifts his hips to pull his clothes lower and spread his thighs, and whimpers as the cold makes his hole twitch. “I miss your cock too, Din. Miss it so much.”

“My—” Din sounds choked. “Gods, Luke.” And scandalised, too, but Luke doesn’t care, not when he can hear Din's helmet hissing, Din spitting into his palm, and the resounding pull of his hand along his own dick.

“Tell me more,” Luke says, “please.” He drags his teeth over his lip, carding false fingers through his hair, and keeps his eyes shut as his palm rubs up and down and up again. “Tell me what you want to do to me. Tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Are you tight for me?”

It’s been long enough that sliding his hand down to touch the space between his cheeks makes Luke’s knees tremble. “Yeah.” He flushes, circling the pucker with the end of his finger, and knows acutely that it isn’t nearly as thick as Din’s would be.

“Good.” The praise travels down Luke’s spine in a shiver. “I want to open you up myself.”

“Ahh…” A drawer opens, a tube travels in the air, and when Luke opens his eyes it’s only so he can squirt lube onto his own fingers. The sound is wet, and he’s sure Din can hear it—is as sure as he knows Din’s fist has pulled up towards the head of his own dick, twisting slightly in that way that makes him moan without fail. “I’d like that,” Luke murmurs just to say it. “You’re always so good to me.”

“Only because you’re better,” Din says without missing a beat, then follows up with, “And did you—?”

“How many fingers?” Luke prompts in place of an answer, lashes fluttering as his eyes shut against the sound of Din groaning.

“Two,” Din answers. Swears, again, in Mando’a. “Is that okay?”

A low hum comes from Luke’s lips when he does as told, two fingers pressing into himself, and the fit is tight indeed, but not painful. Not in the least. Not when it’s so easy to open up for Din.

“Mmhmm.” Luke’s heels press to the mattress as his legs spread that much wider. “More than okay.” He clenches around his own fingers, chest swelling with breath as he pushes deeper into himself, further, up until he’s in to the last knuckle and sighing with it. “So good.”

“Fuck.” How he loves the way Din’s voice catches. How he loves his inability to lie. “I want you to move your hips for me. Please.” He sounds so troubled Luke can imagine the furrow in his brows, and nothing has made him want to behave more.

“I will,” Luke promises, rolling them, riding his fingers and turning his head to the side as he does. “I am.” His wrist pulls back and pushes forward, digits pushing wet into his hole, and he rests his forearm over his eyes as he fingers himself, stretches himself, curls his fingers in and thrusts his hips with it. “I want you, Din. Can you see it? How good I’m being for you?”

Din’s voice is rough when he murmurs, “Yes.”

“Do you like it?”


“Are you gonna fuck me hard?”

Din’s pelvis slaps against the side of his fist over the transmission. Luke has to bite his lip to stifle his whimper.

“I’m gonna turn you over first.”

And that, Force, has Luke gasping as he pulls his fingers out and turns obediently onto his belly. The head of his dick brushes against the sheets, wet and sensitive, and he presses his forehead down before his hands find his cheeks once more.


“I want your hips up.” Din sounds strained. “I want to pull them up myself. Shit, I—I want to feel your hole tense when I rub against it.”

Luke clenches on instinct. “Oh.

“And then I want to fill it.”

Three fingers plunge inside of him, and Luke has to press his other hand to his mouth to muffle his whines as the pressure goes straight to his dick.

“That’s it,” Din praises, and it’s almost like he’s there—whispering in Luke’s ear, coaxing him to relax as he takes all of him in. Luke’s knees tremble as he pushes in as deep as he can, but it isn’t enough, not when he knows Din is hard somewhere in the galaxy and he can’t take him. “I want… gods, Luke, I can’t stop thinking of fucking you into your bed.”

Luke’s teeth sink into his palm as he fingers himself, palm slapping against his skin and his legs spreading wider and wider.

“Of making you bounce on my—” A moment. “My…” Din takes in a breath through his teeth, then mumbles, “My cock.”

And hearing Din say that, of all things, makes Luke nearly sink into the mattress, his face on fire and his fingers driving desperately into his body. He’s close, he realises then, his toes curling as his feet raise slightly in the air. He’s close, and he wonders if Din is close, and his teeth find the sheets instead as his free hand moves down to brush over his nipples and wrap around his own dick.

Luke,” Din groans, and it only occurs to Luke now that the muffled sounds in the background are the rapid slide of Din’s fist and the thrust of his hips. “I miss you. I love you. I want—nngh—” Does Din know? Is he aware of how delicious he sounds, gasping as he fucks his hand pretending it’s Luke? “—gods, wish I could come inside you…”

The noise Luke makes is muted, muffled by the cloth in his mouth, but he thinks of the heat of Din’s seed and spills his own: ropes and ropes of it strewn messy over the bed. His back arches, his fingers curling deep inside himself, and though he’s dimly aware of the full body shivers that come with his orgasm, he hones in on the desperate breaths Din makes before he keens, hisses, and presumably loses himself too.

When Luke finally releases the cloth from his mouth, it’s soaked with spit. But as he withdraws his fingers slowly and rolls onto his back, he’s well-aware the real mess is only a few inches away from where his right thigh rests on the bed.

He catches his breath, listening as Din does the same, and—not trusting the cleanliness of his hand—cheats by using the Force to bring his comms unit close again.

“I love you too,” is the first thing Luke says around his panting, “you know.”

This makes Din laugh and, overwhelmed by his own affection for him, Luke finds himself laughing too.

He calms down like this, basking in the afterglow of his own release and the happiness in long distance laughter. When he gets up, he only feels the slightest discomfort from the stickiness inside him. Luke mourns Din’s absence briefly in the lack of his affectionate aftercare, but knows he’ll manage without him. He’s got a life to get back to, and sex with Din is only a little bit more enjoyable than that.

“I have to clean up now,” Luke murmurs, shrugging his ruined shirt (for sewing later) off and doing the same with his trousers, “you terrible influence.”

I’m the terrible influence,” Din deadpans.

“Mmhmm.” Luke pulls fresh clothes from his wardrobe with his free hand, even as the Force is used to strip his mattress of its sheets and carefully fold it for a good soak later. “You and your risqué late night communications. Honestly, Din…”

“I—you told me to describe it.”

“You contacted me so I could see the dirty thoughts in your mind.”

“That’s…” Hearing shuffling on the other end, Luke figures Din’s getting up himself, and the thought of Din having to change his own clothes makes him smile wider than he ought to. “…correct.”

When Din sighs in defeat, Luke laughs, pushing his arms into new sleeves before buttoning his shirt up.

“Contact me later,” he says, unable to keep himself from grinning in mischief. “Let’s do this again.” He imagines Din’s surprise at that, thinks about this invitation throwing him off—

And flushes anew instead when Din says, “I’d rather come home.”

Excitement blooms inside him, curling comfortably in his belly. “Is that a promise,” Luke starts, biting his lip against the stupidity of his own smile, “Mand’alor?”

Din, ever so thoughtful, gives a low hum. “Only because you said ‘please’.”

Laughing again, Luke pulls Artoo out of his charge and listens to him beep in greeting before returning to his work in the kitchen. “Gee, I should say ‘please’ more often.”

“Don’t push it,” Din growls, and Luke is prepared to leave it at that. A ‘goodbye’ hangs on his lips, much as he doesn’t want to say it, but just as Luke opens his mouth he hears Din mumble, “Because it’s gonna work.”

Luke melts. “Din,” he says, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Grumble, grumble. “…I’ll see you later.”

And Luke doesn’t need to read minds to know that Din smiles when he says it.