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He is kissing you the way you always wanted.
Beyond the walls of the ship the stars streak by so fast they blur, a borealis rather than pinpricks of light. Their radiance is unable to reach you in the belly of the hold—only shadows fill the space around you. And he is kissing you the way you always wanted.
There is no press of cold metal to the warm flesh of your forehead; no leather clad hands creating yet another barrier between your skin, depriving you of the heat of him even as he holds you close. There is only the press of his lips slotting against your own, the quiet huff of his breath as he loses himself in you, because he is kissing you the way you’ve always wanted. The way you never thought he would.
His helmet is set off to the side, somewhere just out of reach but still close by, temporarily forgotten.
“It’s not breaking my creed if you can’t actually see me,” he had murmured before removing the last thing keeping him from you. If it had been any other situation you wouldn’t have allowed it, wouldn’t have let yourself be the reason he was bending the rules of the creed he clung to so tightly. But there was no pressure, no reason for him to bend the rules other than because he wanted this just as much as you did. So he took his helmet off under the cover of darkness and kissed you for the first time.
It was clumsy at first, as his hands—now without his gloves keeping you away—sought the curve of your neck, and your cheek, and finally your lips, followed by his own. He was a little off his mark, nose bumping into yours as his lips pressed to the corner of your mouth. You felt the quick tug of his smile against your cheek before he corrected himself, seeking you once more.
The slight scruff came as no surprise to you, something you had expected he might have around his cheeks and chin and lip when you’d occasionally allowed yourself to wonder about the man beneath the beskar. Appearances likely matter less when your face is always covered. Even now you can’t see the angle of his nose or the curl of his hair, but you don’t need to if it means he will keep kissing you like this.
He was tentative at the start as he got the feel for what must be his first kiss, but now he’s kissing you fully, hands pulling you ever closer.
“Din,” you sigh, the sound of his name more of a quiet rushing of air than a whisper, but it’s enough to spur him on. Enough for him to run his tongue along the seam of your lips, seeking more of you.
You allow your hands to explore the expanse of skin just beneath the collar of his shirt, feel the spot where the texture changes from the soft stretch of his back to one of what must be many scars caused by a lucky strike to the small gap between his pauldron and cuirass, both of which still adorn his body.
Even in the safety of hyperspace he keeps his armor on, and you don’t push his comfort by trying to explore more of his skin, letting him take the lead. He’s already baring himself more to you than he has for any other. His cuirass warms beneath the weight of your chest as he pulls you further into him, tilting your head to give him better access.
You don’t know how much time passes like this, with no light or chronometer or care to track its passage. All that matters is that he is kissing you the way you always wanted.