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It was difficult to kiss a Mandalorian.
The helmet was the most glaring issue of course, for lips could not meet lips when it was worn. Kisses against the helmet were rare, reserved for the moments before Din stepped out of the Razor Crest in search of the more difficult bounties that kept him away for days or weeks at a time. And while you would never admit it out loud, it delighted you to see the smudge of your lips on the beskar, the tiniest piece of you with him while he was gone, and knowing that others would see it too.
The blindfold – or Din’s hand across your eyes – was an improvement that at least allowed you to take in and taste Din’s lips, to feel them push against yours and open with a sigh. You often bumped noses or missed his mouth entirely when his hand was not there to guide your face, sometimes landing on his cheek or jaw instead, any flares of embarrassment always dissipating when you felt his smile against your skin before he shifted and properly caught your lips with his. But those kisses required time and security to be carried out, for Din to know that he was safe to remove his helmet so he could dedicate every thought to you. Those occasions became scarce when the kid joined your small crew, Din too often on edge over those who threatened the child, and although you would not trade him for all the riches in the galaxy, you did miss Din’s lips against yours.
Keldabe kisses were the most common between you, the simple act of resting your foreheads together so calming. They grounded and soothed you, the beskar cooling your feverish skin whenever stress and anxieties swelled within you, leaving you so close to snapping in half before Din pulled you close. His arms would wrap around you, a silent promise that everything would be alright, or for as long as you were in his embrace.
You appreciated each one for different reasons, but none were your favourite for they could not scratch the itch that came about when you could not kiss your partner in the conventional way. No, your favourite was another type of kiss, one that had sprung up out of nowhere and was (as far as you were aware) unique to you and Din.
It occurred one quiet night, the Crest’s gentle hum providing a comforting ambience as you and Din curled around each other in his cramped cot. You were both quiet, a troublesome bounty having drained you over the course of the day, and you busied yourself with tracing the lines of Din’s hand, your pinkie diligent in its work. You pulled your hand away, intent on moving on from his palm to his fingers, but in a rare moment of playfulness Din captured your hand in his own, his fingers slotting between yours. He lifted your joined hands to the bottom of his visor – right where his lips were beneath it – and squeezed.
Something clicked in your head at the small gesture, an idea springing forth fully realised. You weren’t sure if it came from any solid reasoning, or was borne from unstable foundations, but that was the struggle of all ideas conceived in the night, wavering between genius and insanity until revealed in the morning light. But in that moment, it was such a wonderful idea, enough for you to let out a little hum.
‘What?’ Din asked, lethargy roughening his voice, but in a pleasing way, like the scratch of a lover’s stubble against your skin.
You squeezed his hand as you replied. ‘It’s a kiss.’ The press of skin against skin, the love that was translated through it, the warmth that radiated throughout your body from that small piece of contact, was that not what a kiss was?
‘We’re holding hands.’
‘It’s a kiss,’ you insisted, squeezing again. ‘Mwah.’
He didn’t reply immediately, but you could tell he was considering it by the slight incline of his head, his visor focused on your hands. You closed your eyes when the silence stretched on a little too long, the heat of his body so close to yours enough to lull you.
Just as you were about to slip into a dreamland, Din gave your hand an experimental squeeze, the pressure quick as though he was afraid it would burn him if he held on for too long. ‘A kiss,’ he breathed.
You stirred just enough to let out a tiny ‘mhmm’ and give him another kiss before you drifted off.
You kissed a lot after that night. You kissed when you passed each other in the ship, when you settled down for the night, and sometimes just because, Din silently reaching behind him from his spot in the pilot’s seat to find your hand. Even in public spaces where he was usually careful not to show any affection towards you lest it be used against him, he would take your hand for just a moment, just long enough to squeeze it and feel the gesture reciprocated.
Your idea had been a wonderful one after all.