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It is often said that whatever the light touches may be deemed holy. When light chooses to cast its vibrance upon something, it will thrust its full effects headlong onto it, bathing it in a glow so angelic that it must be from the Maker. There is no other possible way to describe it.
This is what you witness as you awaken beside your newlywed husband—your riduur—and see his face glowing with the light that peers in through the woven walls of the Sorgan hut, and you think that he must be a being deemed holy by the Maker.
It has only been a few days since you first got to see his face in the aftermath of your marriage, and now, you cannot get enough of it. For the moment, you do not dare to wake him up, instead wishing to lay your head against the pillow and stare endlessly into the handsome features that are highlighted by the glimmers of light. Once you feel bold enough, you lift your fingers to trail the tips ever so gently over the smooth skin of his cheek, running over at least two faded scars. They stretch over the tanned flesh that still runs beneath the pads of your digits and create small works of art that prove his warrior past to be a tumultuous yet rewarding one. There is only a bit of roughness once you reach his jaw, feeling some of the facial hair that he keeps very short yet still present. When your fingers move across his face and towards his lips—slightly separated as the deep fit of slumber continues to overtake him—you are met with the same texture there, but longer. Soft breaths from his nose tickle your skin, and you struggle to bite back a soft chuckle as the flesh of your digits meets the warmth of his lips.
You nearly jump out of your skin when one of his hands reaches up quickly to grab your wrist, gentle yet sturdy as he holds your hand in place. Your gaze meets his as he opens his eyes slowly, his charcoal-like gaze glimmering more than the galaxy mid-flight. You watch in awe as the flecks of light move around his gaze like stars dancing in a night sky. When his gaze falls to your fingertips that still touch his lips thanks to his grip, you watch that light change into something more similar to embers sparking out of a fire, burning you with a similar flame deep in your belly when his gaze meets yours again.
“Jate vaar'tur, cyare,” your Mandalorian rasps, his voice that is fresh from slumber still softer than what you used to hear through the modulator of his helmet. His tone is hushed, minding the child who sleeps in a crib tucked away in the corner—and hoping to keep this precious moment to yourselves. His grip finally loosens on your wrist, letting your hand fall to the space between you as his free one brushes over the side of your face and through the hair behind your ear. He draws his face closer to yours, so close that you can hear the soft breaths he takes. You swear your breathing stills underneath his intense and affectionate gaze. “Dinuir ni a mureyca.”
There is no reason not to comply with his request as you were going to do it anyway, and there is no hesitation as you fully close the gap between the two of you. You do not rush, instead taking your time with it as your lips move in a rhythm so slow it nearly aches. Your hand now free of his grip brushes over his cheek and into his hair, losing itself in the softness of what it finds as your fingers sift through each and every strand they can. There is a shared sigh between the two of you that you each absorb by parting your lips, deepening your movements yet never quickening them. Somewhere in this moment, you forget where you begin and he ends, rather thinking of you both as a creation now soldered together as his fingertips dance along the bare skin of your neck and down your back. When he gets to your waist, he pulls your body flush against his own, completely enveloping you in his warmth until you feel the same fire that burns in your lungs also in his as they beg for air. You are reluctant to comply but know you cannot refuse any longer, and he does the same as you break apart simultaneously.
Your Mandalorian’s gaze searches your own again and your stomach whirls when his lips break apart into a soft smile. It is lazy but it is lovely all the same. It is a sight you have been yearning to see for too many moons and would now do anything to witness as much as you can. You figure that it is a reason why the Maker chooses to bathe him in light, of what makes him the angelic creature he is. Should you voice these thoughts to him, you know he would only deny them and remind you of what he has done—somehow completely forgetting who he has become.
In this peaceful silence, you suddenly remember that you still have not spoken nor answered his greeting, and you return his smile as you brush your nose against his. “Good morning, my star.” Your voice is a whisper just as his had been before, slightly less laced with slumber. You watch as his gaze flickers with even more light at your endearment. A giggle pushes through your lips at the sight, and your fingers assume their previous action of running along the skin of his cheek. “You slept well.”
“Yes.” Your Mandalorian beams as he takes your hand and presses a kiss to the palm, then the wrist. It is so gentle and delicate that you would never believe he truly is a warrior who hides himself within heavy armor. His gaze meets yours again as he holds your hand to his bare chest. The light still envelopes him and you find your breath being stolen from you yet again at his handsome glow. “It’s hard not to in these conditions.”
You can feel your smile grow but your focus is still on his divine appearance. Your tongue aches for words as it reaches out to wet your lips, preparing you for speech that you still do not have. The words finally come in a manner less enrapturing than you would have preferred. “I’ll never tire of waking up to this ethereal sight of you, riduur.” Your thumb caresses the skin just under his eye as you never tear your gaze from his, but your hand can feel the heat that radiates from his cheek. A teasing smile now spreads across your lips. “Din Djarin, are you blushing?”
Din offers a boyish smile, his brow meeting your own in a Keldabe kiss made more personal thanks to the absence of beskar. “You don’t need words to make me blush, cyar’ika.” It is now your cheeks that burn hot, earning a low chuckle that radiates from deep within your Mandalorian’s chest as he leaves a kiss between your eyes. Another peaceful silence falls as Din now takes his time to admire you, the backs of his fingers running over your cheek as his gaze flickers all over your face. It is only after he places another gentle and brief kiss to your lips that he speaks again. “It is said that when the stars align just right, a life as beautiful as them is created.” Din has almost never sounded so poetic to you and it makes your heart thump against the flesh of your chest in a tenacious manner. “I believe the stars aligned perfectly the day you entered the galaxy.”
There are words you wish to speak but cannot process just yet, and in the waiting, you choose to act. Your mouth melts with his the same as before but not as gentle, instead intensifying with your need to lavish him with the feelings he has filled you with. When one of your hands tends to his hair and the other runs over his chest to give his arm a firm squeeze, a groan makes its way from the back of his throat that sends you over and on top of him until your hands are now bracing themselves against his strong chest. Your lips have never separated and you do not think they could have even if you tried, both of you yet again forgetting what that separation feels like and only feeling conscious of what it is like to have a connection running this deep. Din’s hands, large and stronger than you even know, hold the soft skin of your back to keep you pressed upon him, the warm skin of his palms heating you even more beneath the sheet as you are forced apart yet again by the absence of air in your lungs.
You still long to speak but do not know if you can due to the soft pants of your breath, trying to make up for whatever you have lost in such a moment of passion. Din does not seem to care for his lungs the same as his lips attach themselves to your jaw and along your neck, kissing and sucking and nibbling until your pants turn into sighs and then into soft and sweet moans that you know he is yearning to hear. Once he has left a mark that pleases him and reminds you of to whom you both belong, he lets his head rest back against the pillow, deep and dark eyes studying yours as your throat struggles to make coherent sounds.
“There’s a light that dances in your eyes.” Your voice is almost as soft as the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips that begin to dance along his chest. Your face still hovers over his and you do not take the lack of proximity for granted. “It’s similar to the light that bathes you in the mornings and that’s when I swear I have wed myself to an angel.” You gently remove one of his hands from your back to lace his fingers with yours, resting it on his chest that is now pressed between that and your own. “They’re rare, but I’m certain I have found one.”
Din’s gaze reveals his awe at your words, as if he is trying to process what you have said, but you know he cannot without some sort of aid. Your lips then trail down the same path he took on your own face, admiring his jaw and then the warm flesh of his neck. An open-mouthed kiss soon turns into something more, and you nick at the spot until you can feel the apple of his throat bob with a hard swallow that suppresses a groan. The skin there becomes marked and you smile at the satisfaction of having done the same thing to him he had done to you. Din’s hand escapes yours to take a hold of your cheek, beckoning you to rise and meet his gaze again as he brings your brow against his. That same, sweet smile brightens his face as he speaks in a voice so low and quiet yet so full of deep meaning that you almost miss it. “I love you.”
Your chest flutters and your own lips quirk up in a smile as you press your nose to his. “I love you too, my star.”
You are eager to press your mouth to his again, just to further remind him of this truth and to feel that same desperation in his own actions, but you halt when a shadow moves in your peripherals. Your head turns along with Din’s to see that the child—your child—has made his way out of his crib and now stares up innocently at his two parents. His ears droop low in a manner that begs for affection and refuses rejection, his large and dark eyes practically glowing as he reaches a three-fingered hand out towards you.
With a gentle laugh, you take the tiny creature into your arms, rolling back into Din’s side as you hold him against your chest between the two of you. The baby clings his tiny arms around your neck and nestles his head just under your chin, soon softly snoring against your skin. You look back to Din to see him smiling warmly at the sight. You return it, but begin to feel your eyelids droop in the utter peace and joy of the moment, though you try to fight it. Din shakes his head and brushes a hand over your forehead, pushing the wisps of hair away before pressing a kiss there.
“Nuhoy, cyare.” Din’s words are so hushed that it lulls you even further into slumber again, especially when he lets you nestle your face into his neck. “Ni kelir hiibir baatir be gar.”
“I know.” Your words ghost over his tanned flesh, your lips barely managing to leave the softest of kisses there before you drift off to sleep again, soon dreaming of this same moment and reliving it all over again.