You’re doing it again. Somehow when you’re a guest on Mando’s ship, you always find yourself opening up his gun cabinet and gazing at the glory that is his arsenal. The carefully mounted collection of blasters, rifles, and other deadly weapons is as impressive as any arms dealer’s. Better, really, because you know each one of these has been used. Coldly, mercilessly, probably recently. And, when each one’s job was done, cleaned meticulously, lovingly oiled up, and placed precisely in its home again. Something about this cabinet encapsulates everything about what draws you to this man.
“I know that look.”
You suppress any sign of surprise at Mando’s appearance over your shoulder. His cape swirls at the back of your legs, his modulated voice heavy with that maddening pitch that is somehow both unassuming and supremely confident. You glance at him, then back to the guns, and betray yourself when your tongue darts out to lick your lips. “What do you mean?”
Instead of answering you, he reaches across your personal space and runs one leather-bound finger along the stock of something that’s too short to be a rifle and too long to be a blaster. “I used this one to squeeze a quarry out of some cave he tried to hole up in on Galor Six. Once he saw what it could do to the rocks he thought were giving him cover…” Mando’s armored thigh brushes just below the curve of your ass before he pulls his arm back.
His bulk fills up the right side of your vision, but you keep your eyes locked on the guns.
He reaches for another weapon, this time a long rifle mounted vertically along the side. As he does, his other hand slides up your spine and comes to rest at the back of your neck. “I kept this one from a quarry, who thought they could get the drop on me first.” His fingers grip firmly, turning your head slightly more squarely toward the weapon in question.
Your body thrums like he’s just pushed the magic button. In truth, he has, and he knows he has. Submissive-mode initiated.
“Actually at first, they did,” he admits evenly. And that’s one of the things you love about him too, his absolute lack of arrogance, like he knows his own measure precisely. Easy to put your trust fully into a man like that. “I had no idea a quarry like that one could have a weapon with such range. Didn’t save them, though. I survived that mistake, and now this one right here,” he pats the rifle like a favored dog, “helps me make sure others don’t.”
He is boasting a little, isn’t he. Which isn’t like him. Your skin prickles as you realize he has to be doing it for your benefit, because he’s guessed why you stare at his arsenal the way you do.
He pulls you a little closer with that hand behind your neck, and leans his visor in. His voice drops low. “Which one is your favorite.”
His collection is extensive. It includes a number of rare pieces you’d even love to get your hands on for yourself. But there’s no denying which one thrills you the most, the one that makes your heart pound with a strange intensity when you look at it too long. His augmented blaster is a simple thing, really, a classic design you could see anywhere in the Outer Rim, save for a few modifications that are his own personal touches. Save for the fact that it’s his. Your gaze lands on the weapon that usually sits at Mando’s hip whenever he goes out, the sidearm you’ve seen strike terror into quarry after quarry, pressed to a temple or held unwavering between two wide eyes.
Your hand goes up, fingers stretching tentatively toward where it hangs.
Mando’s grunt sounds satisfied, and more than a little amused. He slaps your hand away with an air of lazy command and lifts it up himself. “Good choice,” he hums. “This is my favorite, too.” His voice stays low, like you’re sharing a secret. He puts a little pressure on your neck, turning you closer to facing him as he holds it up for you to admire. The barrel is elegant, tapered, perfectly counterbalancing the boxy chamber in front of his grip. He tilts his head, so close now to your face. “Does it make you feel something, to see this gun in my hand?”
It’s like your stomach opens up and bottoms out in your cunt. Sinking, primal fear meets aching, overriding arousal, that’s what the sight of a deadly weapon wrapped in the Mandalorian’s competent fingers does to you. But you aren’t about to tell it to him like that. You nod, dreamily, and lick your slack, parted lips. Sub-mode tends to make it harder to talk.
He waves the blaster slowly to the left, and then the right. You realize a bit late that he’s watching how your eyes track the weapon. You probably look like an idiot, like every spineless quarry he’s ever had. The thumb at your neck slides tenderly up and down. Then he presses the cool metal of the blaster along the side of your face.
You break out into shivers. Mando holds you steady, allowing you to crumple a little toward him, to clutch at his bicep just beneath his pauldron.
“Is this something that you like?” The question is almost a whisper, but there’s a curl of pleasure behind it. Whatever he thinks you might be into, he thinks he’s into it too.
“Mhmm,” your voice breaks on a little wail of an affirmative noise.
“You wanna play like this?” There’s more strength in his voice now. He slides that barrel down in front of your ear, curling it around under your jaw. “Want to feel what it’s like to be at the other end of the blaster? Have all your options taken away?”
You’ve done scenes with him almost this intense before, but wow, this is just taking it to a whole different level. You have your safewords in place. You know how to stop him if it gets to be too much. Because there’s roleplay, and then there’s a live weapon being pointed at your face, and one of those is definitely more real. But this surging feeling that’s almost making you feel lightheaded… you definitely want more of this. “Yes, Sir,” you force your mouth to say. Consent has to be clear or he won’t press on, you’ve learned that about him already.
He keeps the pressure of that long-barreled blaster tight under your chin as you struggle as quick as you can out of your clothes.
Mando reaches out with jerky movements of his other hand to expedite the process, pulling at your sleeves, playing the impatient thug to a T. “Let me see what you’ve been hiding from me under there.”
Your body feels hot and cold at the same time once all your skin is exposed under the yellowish glow emanating from the weapons rack. Your pussy is already swollen and aching with need; this was something you weren’t sure you were ever going to work up the nerve to ask him for and yet here he is, clocking you for a freak with a gun kink after barely a glance at what you were doing down here.
His helmet inclines, looking you up and down. “That was too easy, you little slut.” The cold barrel twists against your throat as he changes grips, bringing his own body closer. “What else are you going to let me do to you?” The blaster digs into the bottom of your jaw. “Hold still, and be extremely quiet. It’ll be like, a little slut test. I’m going to play with you for a while, and I don’t want to hear a single moan. Not. One. Peep.”
You squeeze your mouth shut, gritting your teeth to remind yourself because you already want to make sounds for him. He palms one of your breasts, a scooping squeeze that tapers down to a long tug at your nipple just how he knows you like it. You swallow back an encouraging moan, then resort to holding your breath as he repeats the motion a few more times, rolling your beaded nipple faster and faster. When he gives the same to the other side, tugging a little bit harder, you reach up out of habit to steady yourself against his solid torso.
“Hands to yourself,” he snarls. Then he’s crowding you, pushing you with one hand on your breastbone and that blaster cutting into your neck until you back up into the closed door of his bunk behind you. “Palms on the wall,” he instructs, and you spread your fingers across more cold metal as he returns his attention to your chest.
After tugging at your nipples a few more times, he actually slaps your tit. The first strike is experimental, but he sees the breath rush out of you as hot arousal swirls up in the wake of that surprise. Three more strikes come rapidly, and you try to flinch without making that tight flinching noise, the one that your throat is begging you to let loose.
“Do you like that, dirty girl?” The gun is pressing under your ear now as he swats over your breast again, the strike on your nipple making it tingle afresh. The next swat is followed by a firm tweak to the abused flesh. “Answer me.”
A moan breaks out of your mouth, plaintive and distinctively in the affirmative.
The next slap burns your cheek. “I told you to stay quiet. You just lost.”
But what do you lose? The blaster pulls back, trained now between your eyes, the barrel remaining surprisingly steady as hooks his pinky into the base of his other glove to pull it off. Your eyes rush immediately to the ceiling, trained so very well by now to never try and get a look at the Mandalorian’s skin.
You won’t hear his glove fall to the deck. Mando always tucks his gloves in close at his belt, so he can get them back on as soon as he wants his hands anywhere in front of your face again. But when he needs to get between your legs, oh, he absolutely wants his gloves off for that.
His fingers are so much harsher than usual. He’s really not pulling any punches in this game; but by now he’s certainly gathered a good sense for how much abuse you can tolerate. And this looks like another one of those nights he’s going to stretch your limits. He swipes between your folds, pressing up into your cunt with no preamble. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he comments roughly, twisting his fingers inside your opening so you can feel how easy it is. “I guess sluts just love to be treated like this.” He presses the blaster into your cheek, just as two fingers are pressing their way up inside you. You arch back against the wall for balance. “Is it this?” He wiggles the barrel against your cheekbone. “Is this what’s turned you into such a sloppy mess?”
He starts to slide the gun down the front of your body, making your belly tingle and freeze even as your breasts are still prickling hot from the way he was hitting them.
Fuck. He slapped you in the face for speaking last time. Is the silence rule still in effect? For some reason Mando seems to particularly relish putting you in this kind of double bind. His thumb is circling your clit so firm and slow, the press of the blaster is making you pull your bellybutton toward your spine, and he’s waiting, waiting for you to respond. “Yes.”
He curls his fingers out of you and then spanks your clit. One quick, precise reprimand. Your legs try to close reflexively but his armor-plated thigh is in the way. “Yes, what.” He shoves your legs open wider. “Tell me exactly what’s turning you on so badly right now.”
“You, Sir,” you try.
He spanks your clit again, sending electric shivers through your whole body. “Try again.”
Of course he’s going to make you say it. He always wants you to say it, just how kinky you really are. “You and your fucking blaster, Sir.”
Mando leans in, pressing the cold metal further down your body. “My fucking blaster?” he repeats. “Now there’s an idea.”
He crowds you into the wall, helmet angled down so he can watch what he’s doing to you. Meanwhile, you can’t do the same, since his glove is off. You fix your eyes obediently on the ceiling while your attention goes internal. You feel that cold, solid barrel sinking across your belly, then it’s twisting to push your thighs further apart.
“You like it so much, I want you to ride it.”
Stars, he’s going to be the death of you. You feel yourself getting wetter at the suggestion alone. But when the solid metal presses against your clit, so unyielding, squared edges and all, you can’t stop yourself from trying to recoil.
“Uh uh,” Mando chides, gripping your hip to hold you in place. “You got yourself into this, there’s no trying to wriggle out of it now.”
It just feels so wrong. He rocks that barrel over your most sensitive bits and it’s cold and strange and he’s got you panting. You press your palms against the bulkhead and try to keep yourself still and open for him, and yes you did ask for this you suppose, but it’s humiliating and you weren’t sure he would go this far and oh fuck is he trying to stick it inside you??
Cool beskar slides against your cheek. With your eyes squeezed shut you didn’t realize his head was so close. His voice rumbles low through the vocoder: “I want it to smell like you.” The barrel twists in your entrance, but thankfully he doesn’t try to force it very far. “Come on now, dirty girl, ride it for me.”
You whimper and start to move your hips. It’s not much, you’re too afraid of what more vigorous movements might do, but surely Mando understands that, surely he appreciates that you’re trying for him, pushing through your hesitation as you rub yourself deeper onto the end of his gun.
He groans at the sight of your compliance, a deep, raw sound that sounds like some kind of control in him is snapping. Adrenaline shocks through you at that sound, because you’re so vulnerable right now, and he could so easily hurt you if he forgets himself…
Mando removes the gun with another growl, grabbing at your shoulder and spinning you around with a force that leaves you breathless. He slams your chest into the wall like you’re nothing and then the blaster is pressing into your temple.
“Arch your back.”
You press your bottom out as far as you can, presenting yourself to him like an animal, excited for what you think is coming next. Mando’s body crowds your hips, his hand running greedily over your ass, swiping up your drenched cunt.
“I’m thinking about fucking you right now. But, there’s one more thing—” his voice is tight and he actually trips over his words, “—one more thing you never let me do.” The blaster presses heavier into the side of your face. His finger keeps sliding up your slit, past your entrance. “But now that I’ve got you completely helpless like this…” You tense as he rocks that fingertip against your other, tighter hole.
It’s not that you hadn’t talked about this before. You’re curious, intrigued even, but you haven’t yet figured out how to relax certain muscles and earlier attempts at anal sex have proved unsuccessful. The deal between you and Mando so far as been that you’re willing to try, and that he’s allowed to start working you up to it, when the moment seems right. He must have judged you to be so hot and bothered right now that maybe it would finally work.
The pressure does feel good, the tingling strangeness of being touched right there playing perfectly into the adrenaline-laced haze he’s already got you in. The gun at your head makes you feel so vulnerable, so open and helpless that your body might as well not resist anything anymore. The touch of his finger swirling at your asshole is so dirty. “You going to let me in here?”
It’s so reassuring, the way he makes sure you’re still giving consent, without quite breaking the mood of the scene, either. You nod, though when you try to accompany it with a vocalized “uh huh” the sound comes out more like an embarrassed little wail.
“You can be ashamed,” Mando croons, answering your tone. “You know you’re a dirty girl, letting me do such dirty things.” He slides the blaster along your cheek. “Not that you really have a choice.” Somehow being reminded that a slip of his trigger finger would blow your head off just makes your arousal spin out wildly. “You’re just a thing to be used right now.” The pressure against your anus is deepening, starting to stretch you.
“You think you don’t deserve this?” he says the first time you flinch. “You did this to yourself. Things like this always happen to pretty little creatures like you. Ones the sneak around on ships, and poke around in places they don’t belong. You just had to get a look at my guns. Now look where it got you.” He pulls back a little, just to push back in again, making you realize how far your body has already allowed him in. “Now you’re gonna give it all up to me. Even this last bit of resistance. Every part of you is mine to use, and you’re going to take it.” His finger pushes in deeper, stabbing a little to punctuate his words. “Every. Last. Bit.”
And you try to follow that command. You really do. Helpless noises start to spill out of your mouth. How could they not when that dirty, secret stretch starts to burn, when the dark pleasure of one finger up your butt turns to the thought-blurring invasion of two, or maybe three, it’s hard to keep track when he’s hurting you like this. Fuck, you want to be good, you want to give this man everything you have, but it kriffing hurts.
Your safeword explodes past your lips, and the Mandalorian’s fingers instantly still. “I’m going to take my fingers out slow,” he says, voice clear and soothing, without a hint of reproach. “You did so good.”
“I’m sorry,” you can’t help but say, sighing in relief as the pressure abates, though you’re a little bit sad to feel him go, and disappointed in yourself for failing again.
“I’m proud of you,” he counters. “You did so good for me.” He stays close, doesn’t move anything but the bare hand that’s now soothing little circles over your bum. “Do we need to stop everything, or was it just too much in your ass?”
You take a minute to assess yourself. You’re shaking now, feeling pretty blown-out after hitting that limit, but the arousal’s not gone. “Don’t stop. I’ll go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now.” You arch your back deep with your forearms against the wall, proving your eagerness.
His answering chuckle creates a weird static in the vocoder. “I think I would, too. The way you tried so hard for me, you precious thing.” He pushes his hips against you, letting you feel what you’ve done to him. “Made me so hard I almost blew out these pants.”
“Then fuck, what are you waiting for.”
He wipes his fingers on a sanitizer, then his belt clatters to the floor. “Maybe, for you to shut the fuck up.” His tone is a little wry and a little scary, signaling the transition back into the scene. “While I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he presses the barrel of his blaster tighter against your cheek, “I don’t like that tone.” His bare hand collides with your ass. “You want to fucking try that again, slut?”
You shiver in appreciation, feeling yourself fall back into the headspace you’d been enjoying since he caught you down here, now that the necessary check-in is done. “Mm… please?”
He spanks you again, hard and sharp, not worrying about warming you up in the slightest. “You can do better than that.”
“Please, please fuck me.”
Another swat. “Beg for it. I’ve got a gun to your head, I can do whatever I want, but I still want you to beg. Beg for my cock. Beg me to hurt you.”
Fuck. As if you haven’t been through enough. “I need it,” you try. “Need your big cock inside me, so fucking bad.”
“Yes you do.” He slaps your ass one more time and then you feel him fumbling with his pants. Fucking finally. “And now that I know how much pain you can take, I’m going to fuck you how I really want. Cuz I think that’s what you want too, dirty little slut, sneaking down here to steal a look at my own, private, weapon collection; you want to get punished with this cock.”
“Fuck, yes,” you plead as he grabs your hip, lining you up, as you feel the girth of him pressing against your delicate bits, “I’ve been bad and I need to be put in my place.”
“Oh, you will be,” he promises, and then he’s driving himself into you, the sudden stretch making your eyes roll up in your head. Sometimes you tell yourself you’re used to Mando’s endowment, but it’s all lies. No one could ever be used to this, the solid plunge of something too wide to ever be comfortable, especially when he sinks it in so hard and so fast that you feel the pressure all the way up till it forces your tongue out of your mouth.
He pounds away at you, wickedly deep just as promised. It doesn’t matter how worked up he gets you, the stretch is always overwhelming, adding a spice to the pleasure that’s so tantalizing that you think you’ve probably become addicted to it. You realize it’s probably foolish of you two to think that he will ever fit this massive thing in your ass, especially not for him to fuck how he wants, wild and deep like this, but stars, is that thought hot anyway.
You brace yourself against the wall with both your forearms and try to remain conscious under the onslaught. “Arch your back,” Mando barks, pushing at your hips, catching you halfway recoiling, trying to hold the deepest part of you back. His boot taps at your ankle. “Feet wider.”
Fucker really is using this scene to get everything his way. The blaster follows your head as you sink into the required position, letting him reach the very end of you. His fat head is bumping against things that are less than comfortable, but you lay your cheek against the wall and just take it for him. Now your gaze is drifting over the rest of his weapon collection; he’s fucking you mercilessly right in front of it. Reminding you how you got yourself into this. And that he really is gonna try to give you everything you want. As strange or as dark as it turns out to be.
You’re almost surprised when he comes inside you, stuttering and grunting and wringing you over himself until the last tiny bit of his pleasure is satisfied. Often he likes to paint your body with the evidence of his conquest. But it’s so nice to hold him all the way through the end. Maybe he did that for you, too.
The blaster goes back in its holster before Mando begins to pull out. He’s large even when he’s deflating and it’s an interesting sensory experience for both of you every time he goes to dislodge himself after the deed is done. You’re both breathing heavy. Mando’s arm goes around your middle like all he wants to do is cuddle you right here, armor and all, leaning against the wall. “So good,” his modulated voice murmurs between panting breaths, his helmet pressed into your back. “You did so good for me.”
“And I feel like you did all that for me,” you answer softly. “Thank you.”
A deep sound rumbles over the vocoder. “All for you? I was the only one that came, so that can’t be right.” He starts peeling you off the wall. “Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”
There’s an edge to his tone that makes you think maybe the sexy times might not quite be finished. The Mandalorian’s never been a man to leave a job half done, after all.
He reaches past you to open the door he’s been fucking you up against. His bunk has become more cozy than when you first saw it; there’s a real mattress on the frame now, and pillows and blankets. More things he’s done just for you. With gentle hands he ushers your naked body forward to get in his bed. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right behind you.”
You pull a warm blanket most of the way over you as you lie on your back. Now that the adrenaline-laced scene is done, your abused body is starting to shiver. But you don’t settle in completely, still pretty sure that it’s not quite time to pass out yet.
When you look back up at the Mandalorian, standing at the foot of the bed, your breath catches. He’s removing most of his armor plates, hanging each one carefully on the walls on either side of this tiny little room. Your face starts to tingle. This is a rarity in the time that you have known him. He only ever removes what he absolutely has to in your presence.
But those times he’s held you in his arms, he has to have felt you seeking more contact, your roving hands finding out all the little places where you can touch something besides durasteel and beskar. Perhaps he’s about to give you something else he thinks you need, too.
He’s still not showing any skin when he climbs into the cot beside you. But there’s only one little layer between your bodies when he nestles in alongside you, and you can feel his heat, and the springy cushion of his muscles as he draws you to rest your back against his chest. His arms wrap tight around you, pulling you in so close that you can feel him breath. Stars, you can even detect his heartbeat.
It’s a solace you hadn’t even dared to let yourself crave, to be wrapped in the softened reality of this man. Even dreamier when it comes as a reward, after letting him work you over so good outside this little room. You feel your body rhythms entraining to his and try to think about nothing else at all.
You almost forget the idea that he might yet make you come, now that you’re actually here, drifting in the sanctuary of his arms. Then Mando wraps his cloak over both of you, and you feel him removing his gloves.
He worships your body with his palms, especially those places that he was particularly cruel to before. He coaxes your nipples soft and sweet, and caresses your ass like it’s a work of art. You’re totally relaxed, completely comfortable, and surrounded by his smells here in his bunk: metallic, earthy, and some unidentifiable musk that must be a hint of the man that lies beneath it all. You wonder if the sheets you lie on shelter his naked flesh when you’re not around. You wonder… you’re starting to wonder too much. Just enjoy it. Relax in the intimacy he’s willing to give, the privilege that it is that he would be willing to take off his armor for you, even if he can’t show you his skin.
Strong hands pull your top leg up, resting it against his own hips so that his fingers have room to run through your treasures between. “I love your pussy,” Mando says, opening you, coaxing you to bloom with the confidence that comes of repeated experience. You two have been doing this for a while now. Long enough to earn this next level of trust, it seems.
He works you just how you like it, as you arch and sigh against him, reaching back to hold his neck, your fingers barely contacting the base of his head just under his helmet. It’s not long before he’s got your leg twitching and your blood singing. No teasing now, no withholding, just pure, deserved satisfaction.
“Come for me,” he urges, “let me hear how happy I make you.”
And fuck, that does it right there, the loving tone in the same voice that knows how to degrade you when you want it that way, and the baring of some glimpse that you mean more to him than a series of mind-blowing fucks. It pushes you right over the edge into a wailing orgasm that stretches on and on under the expert coaxing of the Mandalorian’s fingers.
The pleasure suffuses you, makes you feel light as a feather, yet unable to move, safe in the circle of his arms. Stars, you can feel him breathing. You never want this moment to end. You realize you’re half-asleep when Mando’s cock rubs up against your behind. “I have to have you again,” he rumbles, his arms clutching at your slackening body. “You don’t have to move, can I…?”
Dreamily, you spit into your fingers and make sure your cunt is ready to take just a little more abuse. Then you present your hips to him.
His exhale is long and grateful as he sinks home one more time. “You’re just—” he whispers behind you, thrusting in lazy and long, “so… perfect.” His strokes send wave after wave of warmth through your body, somehow still relaxing, somehow just letting every last thing in you unwind.
He doesn’t move when he’s done. For once, neither of you say anything self-conscious, or flippant, no jokes meant to create distance or push the intimacy away. He stays, and you stay, and your limbs are all tangled together when you both fall asleep.