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Summary
You ask the Mandalorian how he became so - ahem - talented.
He demonstrates. With his fingers.
“You just seem to...to know what you’re doing, that’s all,” you tell him, swallowing past your apprehension. “Makes it seem like you have a lot of, ah, practice.”
Kriff, it doesn’t matter how many times you do this, he still makes you nervous. Maybe it’s because you know what he can do to you now. It’s not just a threat, but a promise.
“I know you,” Mando says, and the rumble in his voice sends a shiver through your recently-sated body. He underscores it with a sweep of a rough palm down your back, his fingertips tracing the hollow dip of your spine. “We’ve practiced plenty.”